Ring of Fire
by geo3
Summary: Sequel to Winds of Change, and the final story in the Anakin's Saga Series.
1. Default Chapter

**Ring of Fire**

by geo3

**Prologue**

Firestones were an interesting geological phenomenon.

They appeared only rarely in the Galaxy. Most were mined on a small cluster of moons around an uninhabited planet in an obscure system somewhere near the Minos cluster, where the dull, dirt-colored stones lined the walls of deep subterranean caves. Extracting them was costly and dangerous and would never be attempted if it weren't for a particular property of these stones that gave them an open-market price beyond the rarest gemstones.

Firestones seemed to respond to thought.

Even the most primitive sentients could make the stones glow slightly by thinking about them, and in the few cultures that had evolved with access to the stones, their primary use had been to provide a kind of pale light. A more powerful mind could make that glow brighter or dimmer with a little concentrated effort. Magicians and sorcerers had used firestones to impress their intended audiences for centuries, as had entertainers. Rumor and a few erudite academic studies posited that very highly trained minds, like those of the Jedi, could make the stones burst into a visible flame. Most people never got to see that phenomenon, of course. Jedi were not prone to giving demonstrations.

Still, that 'flame-light' property of firestones was all the more remarkable because those dancing flames gave off light without heat. Firestone flames could be made to burn on skin without causing the slightest sensation, or on a fine piece of silk without leaving the tiniest mark. It wasn't a process of chemical combustion that made firestones burn; they seemed to respond to much more subtle qualities of matter. It was, people said, like seeing the power of the mind made visible.

Needless to say, it was fashionable throughout the Galaxy for the wealthy to own at least one firestone, whether or not they could make it perform. It was enough that the stones were rare and remarkable, and very, very expensive.

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, the war-torn Republic's duly elected leader, owned a large collection of firestones.

Most of them had come to him as gifts. The Chancellor's office regularly received official gifts of such number and variety that a separate bureau existed within the administrative structure of the Senate to manage the influx. Official gifts of any value were accepted on behalf of the Republic and then indexed and stored as part of the assets belonging to the Senate. Personal gifts to the Chancellor were actively discouraged in the democratic Republic as inappropriate attempts to curry favor. More subtle ways had to be found to garner influence and power.

And yet, over the long years during which he he'd held the office of Supreme Chancellor, Palpatine had managed to gather quite an extraordinary collection of the finest firestones. Each homely, mottled gray stone had been shaped carefully into a modest oval that fit comfortably into the palm of a human hand. He kept them in a priceless antique votive bowl from his native Naboo, as one of the very few ornaments in his Senate office. Visitors often eyed them curiously, but no demonstrations of the stones' capacities had ever been given.

The stones were well used, though. In his private moments Chancellor Palpatine often spent time arranging and re-arranging firestones in patterns that had meaning only to him. He delighted in the knowledge that the true power of firestones, like that of so many other arcane phenomena, was perfectly hidden in plain sight. While to most people in the Galaxy firestones remained benign toys for the primitive or the privileged, to the few who understood their true nature the stones were a source of limitless illumination of the very essence of the universe – the Force. A useful tool, in other words, for the knowledgeable.

Knowledge was power. He had the knowledge.

Thoughtfully Palpatine chose a firestone from the bowl and set it on the bare, polished desktop before him. Then he added another, and another, until he had arranged all the stones from the bowl in a ring.

He sat back and focused. Seven of the stones flared into iridescent flames that danced and flickered as vividly any blazing hearth.

_Seven in all, then. Only seven._

He leaned forward again and removed all but the seven flaming stones. Those seven he rearranged into a smaller circle. He focused. Immediately two of the flames disappeared.

He frowned. _Only two are gone._ _The third lives still._

He sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the ring, and then formed the remaining stones into a small pile next to the ring of seven placing a particular stone, one that was slightly smaller, paler, and more polished than the others, at the top of the pile. Before he even had removed his hand, the topmost stone blazed into fire, gradually appearing to ignite all the remaining stones in the pile except the three directly below it. Those three remained untouched by flame.

_Three?_ Palpatine sat very, very quietly for some time. Then, as one, all of the flaming stones went out and sat mutely on the desk. Once by one he returned them their bowl, again placing the smallest, palest stone at the top. He sat back and folded his hands in his lap.

_Anakin?_

The bowl of stones blazed into a single mighty flame that reached higher than his head. Unhesitatingly he reached into the flame to remove the topmost stone and peered beneath it.

Three stones at the very bottom of the bowl remained dark and mute.

Pausing only to extinguish the leaping flame with a single thought, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic signaled his chief assistant.

"Hold all my calls and visitors for a standard hour."

"Y-yes of course, My Lord. W-what reason shall I give? This is unexpected…"

But the communication already had ended.

Palpatine closed his eyes and withdrew into the distant realm of his deepest, most private thoughts.


	2. Chapter 1 The Rescue

**Chapter 1. The Rescue**

Anakin liked traveling at sublight speed.

He liked standing in front of the viewscreen, staring into the blackness outside. The stars were there, to be sure, but what seemed much more compelling lately was the dark void in between. It was vast. It was boundless. It went on forever.

Anakin found it soothing to contemplate the untrammeled freedom of infinite space.

He took a deep, quiet breath. A powerful breath. A breath that seemed to begin at his toes and rose through his legs and stomach and lungs like a column of pure fire, filling him with the familiar shiver that said he was not only alive but wholly alive; a pulsing, everlasting flame in the darkness. The sensation told him that if he chose, he could spread himself out infinitely, filling up that darkness, animating it, lighting it, shaping it to his will, and yet losing nothing of himself.

He could, if he chose. The flame visualization told him that the power was his.

But not now. He had obligations. Instead of losing himself in the meditation, he contented himself for the moment with the sensation of greater ease and awareness. Of effortless dominion over his surroundings.

Someone was coming up behind him. Hesitantly. Anakin altered his focus without moving his body at all.

"Yes, Captain?" he said to the stars outside.

"We have picked up an all points distress call from a diplomatic vessel. The call sign belongs to a Galactic Senator. Apparently the Delegation is being attacked by a group of unmarked ships…"

"Which Senator?" Anakin snapped, turning around so suddenly that the startled Captain of the Star Destroyer _Victorious_, a veteran of many battles, flinched. "What delegation?"

"The Alderaan Delegation, My Lord… ah ..." He corrected himself quickly. "Commander."

Anakin snapped back to the window. "Fools," he spat, to cover upan intense surge of relief. "They never travel with enough protection, even in wartime. I suppose we'd better help them out."

"Aye, Commander. On your order."

"How far?" Anakin continued to stare out into the blackness.

"We can be there in a quarter of an hour."

"Halve that. And don't announce that we're coming. In fact, have all ships go to stealth mode."

"Yes, Commander!" The Star Destroyer's Captain sounded relieved. He turned smartly and headed briskly back along the raised walkway to the command bridge. Anakin smiled into the blackness outside, aware without trying to be that the man was forcing himself not to look as though he was scurrying away. But he was.

Anakin didn't blame the officer for not knowing how to address him. He barely knew what to call himself.

The Star Destroyer _Victorious_ was the lead ship in a battle group whose mission was to patrol the main traffic corridors in the galaxy's Core as the tides of war shifted closer and closer to the heart of the Galaxy. Anakin had been dispatched to her four weeks before as Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's personal emissary. No one knew exactly why. He had arrived without a title and never wore a uniform, but the order had spread quickly from the top down: _"Skywalker is in command for as long as he's there."_

The lights around him dimmed, and a complex network of dampeners muffled the normal sounds throughout the battleship. The constant murmur of voices on the bridge dropped to muted whispers. The Star Destroyer was traveling dark, as he had ordered.

Any gossip and speculation about the mysterious emissary's background, his surprising youth, his unexplained connection to the Supreme Chancellor, and his rumored personal connection to a prominent Senator remained strictly within the service corridors and bunkrooms where Anakin never set foot.

Oh, yes. And there were the questions raised by the occasional glimpse of a cylindrical object clipped to his belt under his tunic. The object that some likened to the hilt of a lightsaber. That wasn't discussed anywhere near him, either.

There was just something about Anakin Skywalker that made people cautious around him. He was polite but distant. Though generally approachable, he spent a great deal of time alone. But when he took command he was decisive, curt, and on occasion, short-tempered. No one wanted to cross him.

All of this made it really difficult for the ship's personnel, from the Captain on down, to know how to address him, and Skywalker himself wasn't exactly helpful on that front. He seemed indifferent to rank and status, even though his authority superseded everyone else's when he saw fit. There was one major exception to that indifference, though. Several high-ranking officers of the _Victorious_, including the Captain, not wanting to confuse themselves or their men by giving the Chancellor's emissary a military rank, had tried addressing Anakin using the honorific "My Lord."

He'd _hated_ that. It was so ostentatious. So contrived. So…so _confining_.

They didn't address him that way again.

Soon, by common usage, the Chancellor's mysterious emissary was referred to as 'Commander,' with the tacit understanding that it was a completely separate rank from that belonging to the military hierarchy. That's what Anakin did, after all. He commanded. And since he hadn't given any indication that he minded that title, it had stuck.

Anakin took another carefully modulated breath. It wasn't a flame-breath this time; it was cooler and more steadying. He breathed in the light of the stars outside and filled himself to overflowing with the sense of balance. Poise. With the feeling of readiness without expectation. Finally he turned away from the black spaces beyond and went to work.

The bridge of the _Victorious_, like all the Star Destroyers of its class, was constructed with a series of walkways above functional work areas that were recessed into the ship below. The men referred to the work areas, where they spent their days at eye level with their superior officers' boots, as the 'pits;' the comms pit, the weapons control pit, the surveillance pit. And so on.

When Anakin turned away from his favorite viewscreen, the one at the forward end of the bridge, he had to traverse a long walkway to get to the command center. He walked the now darkened ramp with his usual measured stride, but by paying attention to the screens and the whispered conversations in each of the pits that he passed, by the time he arrived by the Captain's side he had obtained a detailed picture of the Victorious' position relative to that of the besieged Alderaanian ship, and of the status of the battle between the delegation's pitiful gunship escort and their mysterious attackers.

"Guerillas," he said shortly to the Captain. "Or Pirates. Probably local. Preying on the wealthy enemy. They won't try to destroy the Senator's ships. They want plunder and ransom."

"What would you like done with them, Commander?"

Anakin didn't hesitate. "Destroy all six attack ships as soon as you're in range. No hails. No warnings. Have a standard rescue team meet me in the shuttle bay. I'll go over with them to check on the Delegation."

"Aye, Commander." The Captain managed to avoid arguing with the order. Just. Anakin felt the man's resistance. It was clear to him that, if left to his own devices, the _Victorious'_ Captain would have followed standard procedures, hailed the attackers, and drawn them away from the delegation into a fierce but most likely, brief, battle. Anakin's approach meant that there would be no battle. They simply would clear out the enemy ships.

Anakin preferred his own method. It was faster, easier, and ultimately more decisive.

"The moment the last enemy ship is destroyed, hail the Senate Delegation, explain who we are, and tell them to make ready to be boarded."

The Captain looked at Anakin wryly. "Protocol demands that we ask for permission to Board, Commander. Especially when we're dealing with a delegation of diplomats."

Anakin shrugged. "I don't care how you do it. Just get it done."

And with that the Supreme Chancellor's emissary left the bridge of the _Victorious_. Confident that his orders would be carried out to the letter, he didn't even wait long enough to watch the Star Destroyer's laser canons violently blast six unidentified, unmarked ships, one after the other, into a fiery, convoluted inferno.

x

"Well, Aeron?"

Prince Organa of Alderaan looked at his assistant expectantly. The young man's shining head of white hair, so typical of the natives of the Western Isles, gleamed softly in the pinpoints of light that were meant to give Bail's onboard study a soothing ambiance.

Unfortunately, the desired soothing effect didn't work when you came under enemy fire. And in such an odd, unexpected place, too. They had been so close to their destination, Coruscant, that they were traversing one of the most heavily traveled, well monitored, and presumably, safest traffic corridors in the Galaxy when the attackers struck.

It was as if someone had known that where they would be. And when.

"You saw?" Still shaken as he was by the events of the last breathless half-hour, Aeron's normally unfailing bent toward proper protocol was slipping a little.

Bail smiled at him warmly, trying hard to look reassuring. It was very, very difficult after what he had just witnessed.

"I saw, Aeron." _I saw what we all saw: after the sudden, stealthy attack, the equally sudden and stealthy obliteration of our attackers. _"It seems the Republic has come to our rescue in the nick of time."

Aeron didn't seem to be able to muster a return smile quite yet. "A Commander something-or-other has requested permission to come aboard with a rescue team to check on us," he announced somberly. His usual sharp wits seemed to be a little dampened, too. "Our Captain gave permission."

Bail raised one eyebrow. "Under the circumstances, we could hardly refuse them, could we?" He shifted in his chair, noticing for the first time how cramped all his muscles had been from sheer tension.

_Be honest, boy_, the sharp voice of Bail's maternal grandmother said in his head. _It was fear._

Bail ignored the voice as best he could. It always seemed to pop up at times of greatest stress. It was a source of everlasting annoyance to him that the clear voice of his conscience, or whatever it might be, had adopted that snide and obdurate old woman's voice. Long after her death, her uncompromising honesty lived on in her grandson's deepest heart and mind.

"Show the Commander in here, Aeron," Bail decided quickly. "I'd like to speak with him privately.

"Of course, My Lord," Aaron murmured, still looking distraught.

"And then go get some rest," Bail added. "You're excused." Aeron nodded, looking relieved, and slipped out of the softly lit cabin.

The Viceroy of Alderaan, Senator to the peaceful Alderaan system, leaned back in his chair and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The adrenaline slowly was subsiding. He hoped he wouldn't have to stand up any time soon.

_He's on to you, boy,_ his grandmother's voice said.

She was right. She was always right. It was possible that the as-yet-unknown Commander of the Republic Army battle group that had arrived out of nowhere had, knowingly or not, just foiled a clever plan to assassinate him.

_We began as seven. Just seven. Now we are five._ _Only five souls to stand against the most powerful man in the Galaxy._

Two members of their tiny, secret resistance group already had died. One had been a respected colleague in the Senate, the other, a dear, dear friend. Both deaths had appeared to be related to the war, of course. Unfortunate victims of battles on their home planets. Amidala of Naboo, the originator of this bold, desperate conspiracy among the very few trusted Senators who were prepared to oppose Palpatine at any price, had only narrowly escaped being tried and put to death for treason against the Republic at Palpatine's hands. Bail didn't yet know how she had survived. Once of his first goals upon arriving on Coruscant was to make sure that she was all right.

_But I almost didn't make it to Coruscant._

Bail had spent the last three weeks helping a fifth member of the group escape his home planet and find sanctuary on neutral Corellia. Y'lia was all right for the moment, as long as he remained there. The last two – well, Bail just didn't know their status at the moment. The same as his, he supposed; they were all in imminent danger of conveniently dying in an unfortunate but perfectly explainable war-related incident.

_This is what we get for playing with fire. _

_x_

So this was Prince Bail Organa. Anakin studied the Viceroy of Alderaan and Senator to the Alderaan system across the massive desk that took up most of his host's onboard study.

He certainly held a lot of titles.

While Anakin remembered having seen the Prince here and there in the corridors of the Senate building – long ago, now, in what felt like another lifetime – this was the first time they had come face to face. Anakin was relieved that Organa didn't appear to remember him at all, either as a Jedi Padawan or later as the Chancellor's personal advisor. For the moment he preferred to observe the Prince from the privacy of social obscurity.

He wanted, most of all, to take his measure.

This was the man whom Padmé had trusted with her life. The man, together with Kenobi, to whom she had entrusted the information that Anakin had risked much to obtain for her – the data proving that most of the official reports on the progress of the war given to the Senate were carefully fabricated lies.

This was the man with whom she had planned a clandestine meeting – a journey she had intended to make entirely alone. Anakin was unendingly thankful that he had insisted on accompanying her on that fateful trip to Alderaan. When Organa had warned Padmé not to disembark because their secret meeting had been compromised, they had gone on to Naboo, where Padmé had been caught and nearly executed for treason. It made Anakin ill to imagine how events would have played out if he hadn't been there to make the bargain with Palpatine that had kept her safe.

_So far._

This was the man whom Padmé thought of as one of her closest friends.

Anakin, on the other hand, often had wondered since then how much Bail Organa had known about what awaited Padmé on Naboo. Had he sent her away on purpose, knowing what would happen?

Anakin's eyes never left Organa's face.

"Do you know who our attackers were?" The Prince's deep voice broke into his thoughts.

Anakin shrugged. "Their ships were unmarked. There have been quite a lot of guerilla attacks on major space lanes lately."

"Even here, so close to Coruscant?"

"Especially here. The Separatists are stepping up pressure on the Core. Coruscant is no longer as safe as it was even a few weeks ago. That's why we're patrolling this sector – our mission is to secure the space lanes that lead to Coruscant."

"Who are these guerillas? What do they want?" The look in the Viceroy's dark eyes, which in turn scrutinized Anakin with interest, was steady enough but Anakin sensed fear behind them.

"Some are idealists, fighting independently for the Separatist cause. Increasingly, though, we've found that local independent entrepreneurs…"

"You mean pirates?" Organa interrupted.

Anakin shrugged again. "Yes, pirates. They've been very effectively taking advantage of the growing chaos by preying on the ships of the wealthy, and making it look like a Separatist attack. I imagine that in Separatist-controlled areas of the Galaxy, they paint their ships to look like Republic Army vessels. Either way, all they want is plunder. I doubt that they would have destroyed your ship."

"It's my people I worry about, Commander," Organa said sharply. "Not my ship."

"Often they form a conveniently integrated target," Anakin pointed out dryly, having decided after the briefest pause to let the Viceroy's implied rebuke pass. "You really do need to travel with a much more effective escort in the future."

Organa, too, let Anakin's criticism go by without comment. "Things have grown that bad here in the Core sector, then?"

"It's going to get much worse before it gets better, Senator. We're diverting more and more resources to defending the main traffic lanes, and we're still not keeping up with all the incursions. Security is crumbling. We anticipate a massive Separatist attack on the Core sectors sooner rather than later."

"I haven't seen the latest reports." Organa looked at him levelly. "I've had business away from the Senate for several weeks."

"The tides of war, Senator. Things are changing fast." Anakin stood up abruptly, bringing their conversation to an end. "My recovery team will give you all the assistance that you require, medical and otherwise. I've assigned two gun ships to accompany you the rest of the way to Coruscant. I'm sure you'll be safe for now."

With quiet pleasure Anakin noted a ripple of chagrin from his host as Organa, too, rose from his seat. Perhaps the Prince had suddenly realized that he might have sounded the tiniest bit ungrateful.

"Thank you for your frankness, Commander," Organa said formally, with a little more warmth in his voice. Just a little. "And thanks, of course, for your timely assistance. I thank you on behalf of my people, and of the Republic."

The way Organa said the word _Republic _sounded much the way it did when Anakin heard it from Padmé's lips. It had that same distinctive tinge of bitterness and regret. He looked Padmé's trusted ally over carefully one more time as he grasped the Alderaan leader's outstretched hand.

"We serve," Anakin said shortly, and then wished he'd chosen a different phrase when something flickered, just briefly, behind Organa's eyes.

The Viceroy held their firm handshake just a little bit longer than would have been required. A tiny frown indicated that he might have noticed the hard feel of the hand under Anakin's glove. "One thing bothers still bothers me, Commander. You destroyed those ships without knowing who they were."

Anakin took back his hand. "Life or death, Senator. We're fortunate when we get to choose between them."

That odd light flickered in Organa's eyes again as Anakin took his leave. It bothered him that he couldn't identify what was behind it. Still, he came away from the encounter with the very clear impression that the Prince Bail Organa, Viceroy of Alderaan and his system's representative in the Senate, was in trouble.

_He doesn't think the attackers were guerillas or pirates. He thinks it's personal._

_He might be right._

x

Anakin left the Alderaan Delegation's ship feeling more troubled than at any time since he'd left Padmé on Naboo.

Was the conspiracy that Padmé had been involved with still ongoing? If it was, then Padmé's position was as precarious as ever. Maybe more so.

Ever since Anakin had left the Jedi Order and entered Palpatine's service, he had lived as if he were holding an enormous weight above his head to prevent it crashing down on everything that was precious to him. Padmé. His unborn child. His own freedom. He kept that weight aloft out of love and hope and fear of what would happen if he failed. He used every resource available to him to keep Padmé and their child sheltered from Palpatine's attention and awareness – some of which involved enormous expenditures of energy in the Force. He held that weight at bay by staying fiercely focused. Wary. Defensive. By never, ever letting down his guard. He had learned to live with the constant ache of his longing for Padmé. He had learned to hold back his feelings. To go without. To want nothing other than the strength to carry on.

But after the discussion with Organa Anakin could feel the merciless grip he kept on himself slipping dangerously. Something about the conversation – maybe the memories it evoked; maybe something about the light behind Organa's eyes – had broken through Anakin's careful shielding.

He desperately needed to see Padmé again.

He needed her reassurance. Her strength. Her faith in him. A few kind words from someone who loved him would go a long way to making the burden he had so willingly taken on more bearable. And who was left in the world that loved him? Padmé. Just Padmé. When she looked at him with that pure faith in her eyes, the weight he bore felt like nothing at all.

How long had it been since he had seen her? Four weeks? They hadn't spoken for days, not since she used the coded link he'd given her to tell him that she had been reinstated and was returning to Coruscant. To Anakin, the news was both wonderful and terrible. She was returning to Coruscant – that meant he would see her more often. But she was taking her place on the political scene again, and that meant visibility. Knowing Padmé, sooner or later it also meant political conflict with the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. And when that happened…

Palpatine. Gods.

Weeks of carefully cultivated behavior and cunning gamesmanship were swept aside so quickly that by the time Anakin had returned to the Victorious, he had hatched a plan that wouldn't even have occurred to him earlier in the day.

The battle group was going hunting.


	3. Chapter 2 The Inner Circle

**Chapter 2. The Inner Circle**

A light breeze from the open terrace door teased the wisps of hair around Padmé's face. She raised her hand to brush them away from her forehead and, lured by the playful waft of air, let her attention drift to the bright morning outside. Beyond the vines and flowers that draped the stone balustrade, the ancient city of Theed lay spread out below as far as she could see, familiar and reassuring. Less reassuring were the new, tall flagpoles that pierced the skyline throughout the city, competing for attention with the graceful green rooftops and spires and turrets of Naboo's distinctive architecture. The same innocent breeze that had called to her made the identical banners on the flagpoles flap and snap, revealing again and again the symbol of the Republic.

The banners had appeared throughout the city for the investiture of Naboo's new military governor, and for some reason, never had been taken down.

Reluctantly Padmé returned her attention to the long and complicated list on the datapad in front of her. She didn't notice that Sabé had put down her needle and thread and was watching her.

"This is incredibly difficult." Padmé muttered, mostly to herself.

"Difficult doesn't begin to describe the mess we're in," Sabé commented, and then quickly shut her mouth again, as if she regretted her words. Instead, she went back to laboriously tacking a length of embroidery onto a glittering gown.

Surprised, Padmé stared at her. There was a rather heavy pause.

"Try to remember that I'm lucky to be here at all," Padmé finally said into the lengthening silence.

"I know, My Lady. I'm sorry. It's not that I'm not grateful for that every day." She changed the subject quickly. "What are you working on?

"I'm going over the staffing for the Senate Delegation office on Coruscant. I find can't just choose people on merit and longer. I have to think about their families – whom they leave behind if something happens to them. I have to think about their discretion. I mean, I always had to think about that, but now…" The breeze ruffled her hair again, more insistently this time. Padmé put aside the datapad and stood up to wander closer to the open balcony, unable to resist the temptation of the air and the light and that fickle breeze.

"Loyalty is the most important consideration," Sabé said firmly, "And not just loyalty to you. We're a close-knit team. We have to be. If one of us is less than absolutely bound to the others, we all will suffer."

"It never used to be this hard to know whom to trust," Padmé breathed the warm, scented air hungrily, drawing it deeply into her lungs. The plants outside on the balcony were heavy with red and white blossom. "Loyalty is something we Naboo have always been good at. Loyalty not to an individual, but to Naboo. To our values. To our way of life. Everything else flowed from that."

"Things are different now." Sabé scowled at her handwork.

"Once the whole planetary system trusted me to do what is right." Padmé closed her eyes while the merry breeze began to play around her face again. It occurred to her that, with her return to Coruscant only days away, it would be along time before she felt breezes like this again. "Now many have doubts about me. I know they do. A charge of treason is not a frivolous thing."

Padmé had learned just how onerous a burden that accusation had been when she'd had to fight to be allowed to finish out her term as Senator. While the charges of treason against her had been dropped, the Republic had neither issued an apology nor expunged the accusations from her public record. As a result even Padmé's staunchest allies and supporters at home, the ones who never for a moment entertained the thought that Padmé would act traitorously, had been hesitant to throw their support behind her without knowing whether she was in or out of favor where it counted – with the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.

And Palpatine had known that all along. Of course he had. "If your wife can persuade the new government to allow her to continue to represent this system despite her record," he had said to Anakin right in front of her, as if she hadn't been there, "I will tolerate her presence in the Senate."

_Tolerate._ He would _tolerate_ her presence in the Senate.

That slithering son of the seventh pit hadn't lost anything by dropping the charges against her. He still had what he wanted. He had Anakin's services, obedience and loyalty. But it had been left entirely to Padmé to persuade her government and the people of her planet that she could and would still represent them as faithfully and as effectively as she always had. One by one she had spoken with her allies, friends and supporters. And well known and personally esteemed though Padmé was, none of them, however much they sympathized with her, had been willing to go out on a limb on her behalf.

In the end, the decision whether to re-instate Padmé Naberrie Skywalker as Senator Amidala of the Naboo system had fallen to the new, inexperienced, and unknown Queen who had been selected to finish Queen Jamillia's term after her she was assassinated.

As always when she thought of Jamillia, Padmé ached with grief and loss. How quickly the old world had been replaced by the new.

"The Queen reinstated you as Senator." Sabé pointed out reasonably. "People trust her. You do your job, and that trust will be justified."

"The new Queen is young," Padmé closed her eyes, threw her head back and breathed as if she could absorb her surroundings and never let them go.

"You were young. You didn't fail your people."

"Didn't I?" Padmé murmured but her never-ending, soul-deep question was drowned out by a loud "Ow!"from Sabé, who immediately stuck her finger in to her mouth.

"I hate sewing."

"I know you do." Padmé repressed a smile. "I'm sorry about that. But I need to carry on as if I'm not pregnant for as long as possible. Anakin and I need a little time to find our feet. The situation is unstable. We don't need …we don't need an added v_ulnerability_ right now."

"I'm not questioning that decision, My Lady. Had you made your pregnancy known, those who opposed your reinstatement would gladly have used it as ammunition against you. I'm just saying that I hate sewing."

"Can't you give it to Dormé?"

"The Palace seamstresses would be a lot more efficient than either one of us."

"No," Padmé said, her face to the breeze. She slipped her hand onto her stomach. "Not yet." Beneath the thin morning gown her abdomen felt only a little rounder, but quite a bit firmer. Different. No longer entirely hers. Idly, she stroked it with her hand.

_Hello, child._

Sabé returned to carefully applying a row of tiny, tiny stitches. "Who on your list of staff are you unsure about?"

"I've never worked with any of the people who are maintaining the Naboo Delegation Offices on Coruscant at the moment. They're career diplomats, mostly. The interim government selected and posted them while they were deciding what to do with me."

"Surely you're entitled to choose your own staff now that you have been reinstated as Senator."

"Technically, yes. But I need find a way of doing that without alienating any of those people."

_I have enemies enough already_.

"Do you want my advice?" Sabé picked carefully at a thread. "My totally honest, not diplomatically tempered advice?"

"Since when have you offered me any other kind?"

Sabé grinned. "That's why you love me."

"Go on."

"Clear out the Senate office staff completely. Bring your own people from Naboo for every post. To reduce grumbling and suspicion ensure that everyone now in the Delegation Offices on Coruscant gets a promotion for services rendered and either sent back home or to posts they've never held before."

Padmé contemplated her Handmaiden.

"You're saying we need to make sure that any clandestine connections they might have to anyone on Coruscant are severed."

"Yes."

"Then I'd have to bring a whole new staff from here."

"Yes."

Padmé rubbed a hand over her face. "I don't have time to choose all new people. This reinstatement business has taken too long already. I need to get back to Coruscant."

"I can help you with the staffing. Please believe me, My Lady, it's important."

"You don't think we can trust anyone there, do you?"

Sabé shrugged. "Corruption spreads quickly. And we know just how corrupt the Senate is."

"Do you feel confident that you could choose the right staff to bring with us?"

Sabé looked straight into her eyes. "Do I feel capable of choosing people to work with in whose hands I'd be willing to place all of our lives? Yes. In fact, I'd quite like to be given that responsibility. Let's face it, I'm a bit more heard-hearted than you are."

Reluctantly Padmé left her airy doorway and returned to her desk. She picked up the hated datapad and scowled at it for a while. "Captain Typho has agreed to return to Coruscant with us. Do you think I can safely delegate selection of the Security personnel to him?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I wouldn't trust the background checks that have to be done to anyone else."

Padmé agreed. The good Captain had proven his loyalty and devotion over and over again. She tossed the datapad back onto the desk as if she were laying down a heavy burden. "See, _this_ is how I'm accustomed to working. It ought to be a chain of trust."

"Caution, My Lady. Always caution. Everything has changed."

"I trust you, Sabé. That hasn't changed."

"You have my unswerving loyalty, My Lady, as you always have. I know you have Dormé's and Captain Typho's. Beyond that, I advise you to trust no one. Not even …" Sabé stopped abruptly, and even had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry, My Lady. I didn't mean to…"

"Just don't."

_I trust Anakin, _Padmé thought fiercely_. I trust my husband. _But she knew better than to allow this conversation to continue. If she did, Sabéwould tell her once again why she and Captain Typho had their reservations aboutAnakin. About how the fact that he now worked exclusively for Supreme Chancellor Palpatine made even Anakin someone to be cautious around. It was all so complicated, so confusing. When she was with Anakin, all doubt disappeared instantly. Her heart, her feelings told her exactly who he was. But now that he was away on a mission he couldn't discuss with her, and because she was surrounded by people who mistrusted him, she felt constantly uneasy.

_I hate this. I hate being separated from him. I hate not knowing what he is doing._

Anakin had been away four long weeks - four endlessly long weeks during which Padmé had fought to clear her reputation on Naboo and to get herself reinstated as Senator. Four weeks during which her belly had grown a little rounder while her wardrobe was being endlessly adjusted to disguise that fact. Four weeks during which she only had been able to speak to Anakin occasionally, and only by using the special holo-transmission codes he had given her which tracked him down wherever he was in the Galaxy without revealing his location to the caller. Not even Padmé was allowed to know his location or what he was doing.

Reluctantly Padmé returned her attention to her immediate task. "All right, Sabé," she said at last. "Do this for me. Pull together a final list for a completely new staff for the Delegation office in the Senate. Work with Captain Typho. And do it quickly."

"I will, My Lady." Sabé jumped up and with visible relief dropped the pile of glittering fabric on the sofa next to her.

"I've been away from the Senate too long," Padmé murmured, gazing out over the verdant balcony to the city beyond. The heady scent of the flowers must be having a powerful effect on her. She felt languid, even lightheaded. She imagined herself becoming part of the breeze and the sun and the air and the clouds that floated over her home. "We must hurry." Her words were at odds with the dreamy lassitude that held her here at her desk staring out over the rooftops of Theed.

Coruscant and all that it represented still seemed very far away…

x

"She's dozing again," Sabé informed her counterpart crisply when Dormé arrived to take over. "And there's more sewing to do."

"Oh, good," Dormé said happily, picking up the garment that Sabé had been so relieved to put aside. "I love sewing."

Without Padmé's knowledge, her three closest and most trusted advisers had formed a private pact after the events on that horrific day they privately referred to as The Heartbreak – that darkest of days on Naboo when the military governor had been installed, their Queen had been murdered, their Senator arrested, and many, many loved ones had been torn away from their families only to die in the ensuing riots. All of Naboo had lost much, but Padmé's tightly-knit, devoted staff was of the opinion that she had lost most of all.

Sabé and Dormé had managed to arrange things so that Padmé never was alone. When one of them left, the other found an excuse to remain by her side. Secretly Padmé's two most trusted Handmaidens took turns sleeping outside of her bedroom door, fully armed and with a priority link to Typho's security network. They screened her calls. They lobbied on her behalf. They found endless creative ways to cover for their mistress' recent bouts of sleepiness and loss of concentration. "It's normal," they had assured the worried Captain Typho. "It will get better after the first few weeks of her pregnancy."

Sabé glanced over at Padmé, who seemed to be peacefully asleep at her desk with her head resting on her arms, and lowered her voice. "Let's go into the other room."

Still clutching her sewing, Dormé followed her into the spacious sitting room where they settled themselves on a long sofa.

"What news from the good Captain?" Sabé asked. "I've got the go-ahead to finalize the staffing."

"He is just about finished with the background checks on the list of candidates you gave him last week. He wants to talk to you, though. Apparently Dellia is interested in returning to Coruscant as Padmé's personal administrative assistant."

"Really." Sabé's eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she crossed her arms. "She must have approached him, then, because she was _not_ on my list."

"Well, she seems to really want the job." Dormé already was searching for a needle and thread.

"She was a lot of trouble last time around."

"I don't think that Dellia was disloyal." Dormé's needle began to flash in and out of the fabric, almost taking on a life of its own. Sabé couldn't help admiring the perfect seam that began to take shape under her friend's flying fingers. "Naïve and inexperienced, yes. But it was her first tour of duty abroad. Emotional, yes. She had a difficult time keeping things on an even keel. But she worked hard. She never complained about the long hours. And I think she was discreet.

"She could keep a secret, all right," Sabé snapped. "None of us knew about the affair she was having with that Jedi Padawan."

"True."

"And when he called it off she fell apart completely. She couldn't work, she just cried. I had to fill in for her. Honestly, I thought she was a lot more trouble than she was worth."

"Well," Dormé stopped briefly to survey her handwork, and then began again, "Padmé may feel differently about that. She got quite used to working with her. And her family and Dellia's are very close. That's how Dellia got the job in the first place."

Sabé picked at the folds of her skirt for a while, lost in thought. "If the affair had continued, how loyal do you think she would have remained to us? If it had come to a …a conflict of interest?"

Dormé put down her sewing. They looked at one another in complete understanding.

Sabé raised one elegant eyebrow. "Who would have imagined that Jedi Padawans could cause so much trouble?"

Dormé sighed and returned to her sewing.

x

Padmé woke up to find herself alone in her study. She was secretly thrilled. Sabé and Dormé had been hovering around her so relentlessly that it seemed they'd breathe for her if they could.

_Alone._

She stretched and looked around, then tiptoed to the door. Muted voices came from the sitting room. Stealthily she closed her study door and locked it, and then flung herself back to her desk the holo-vid projector on her desk and entered Anakin's personal code. Anakin had arranged for her calls to be patched through to him wherever he was, whether on Coruscant or elsewhere. If he was away, it just meant a longer wait for a connection.

Still sleepy, Padmé yawned and rubbed her face, and then glanced back at the holo-vid. No connection yet. It was taking ages, so he still wasn't back on Coruscant. She was beginning to worry that he wouldn't be there when she arrived.

She rolled her shoulders to loosen them up, and then stretched her arms way over her head for another almighty yawn.

Still no connection.

Restless, Padmé got up to stand by the open terrace door again. Beginning to feel a bit queasy with worry, she watched the Republic banners again and wondered how a symbol could take on such a different meaning in such a short time.

"Padmé," Anakin's longed-for voice said suddenly behind her. Padmé whirled around, her heart began to pound, and everything was all right again.

She moved closer.

"The Force is strong with you," Anakin went on before she could speak.

"So I'm told…" she began teasingly, but it seemed that Anakin wasn't in the mood for banter this time.

"You called just when I was missing you desperately."

Padmé's breath caught. "I always miss you desperately."

"Gods, Padmé… when are you coming?"

Padmé was startled by the intensity in his voice. Even over the distant transmission, he sounded as though he ached.

"We're leaving in a few days at most." Padmé searched the holographic transmission for a clue to his expression, but the image resolution was as poor as usual on these calls and she couldn't really tell. "Are you all right? What's happened?"

"I need to know exactly when and how you're traveling," Anakin insisted. "And only use this code to let me know."

"You're still not back on Coruscant, then?"

"I will be." There was a distinct pause. "Nothing could stop me."

"Anakin, I'll let you know as soon as I do…"

"Listen to me carefully, Padmé. However you travel, make sure that you have a solid military escort. None of this token security business of Typho's. I mean military gun ships and fighters."

Padmé sighed. Anakin and Captain Typho had been circling around one another on the issue of Padmé's safety since the time that she famously had disappeared together with Obi-Wan's Padawan and ended up on Geonosis in the middle of the first major battle of the war. Padmé alternately felt stifled by their over-protectiveness or caught in the line of fire between them. Anakin's reaction to Typho's re-appointment as Security Chief had been as enthusiastic as Typho's reaction to Anakin's appointment as husband had been.

"Anakin, what's happened?" she asked again. "Tell me what you're worried about and I'll know what to do."

"Promise me, Padmé. Promise that you'll get the best protection you can."

"I promise, Anakin, but won't you tell me…"

"I have to go," Anakin interrupted quickly. "But Padmé, hurry. Please."

His image vanished.

_He needs me._

Padmé stared at the empty desktop for a few shaky breaths, and then sprinted to the door of her study. When it opened, she almost fell backward with surprise when she came face to face with her two equally startled Handmaidens.

Goal-driven as she was, Padmé was the first to recover. "I'm returning to Coruscant at the first available opportunity," she announced firmly. "And if you don't want me going alone, I suggest you get moving."

Maybe it was something about the look in her eye. But she didn't get a single argument.


	4. Chapter 3 Plans and Schemes

**Chapter 3. Plans and Schemes**

"Have you ever watched a Star Destroyer die?"

From the lofty vantage point of a turret balcony in the Jedi Temple, this evening the sunset over Coruscant looked like nothing more than a muddy haze. As he did so often lately, Obi-Wan Kenobi pulled his heavy traveling cloak more tightly around him, slipped his arms into the wide openings of the opposite sleeves, and hunched over a little, as though he was protecting his heart.

"That's an odd turn of phrase." Mace said thoughtfully beside him.

"You can feel it in the Force long before you can see anything happen. On a long-range scanner or from the viewscreen of a nearby ship everything looks normal – but you know what is about to happen. You just know. Inside the ship, they know, too. Maybe their scanners told them. Maybe they saw it coming. You can feel the panic, the frantic activity. Then, inevitably, the final blow comes. The one that cripples the ship's systems and destroys the delicate balance that keeps it functioning."

He paused again. Mace gave him the space to continue.

"It might be a single blast, or a volley of them. Even if it's a larger blast, you see the flash, and then everything goes quiet. Even the Force seems still for that moment."

On silent feet a figure approached the two Jedi Knights where they stood at the balcony railing. Mace made a quick gesture and the figure froze, and then endeavored to become part of the shadows at the rear of the balcony. Obi-Wan kept talking in that curiously flat, dead voice, against the faraway backdrop of the usual city sounds.

"The thing is, I don't think I've ever seen one of those huge Destroyers killed cleanly, with a single huge explosion. From a distance, across space, it always looks as though the damage might be sustainable. But it isn't, because the ship's systems are beginning to fail one by one. Those big Star Destroyer are tough. They are designed to balance out all kinds of extremes. Things can go wrong in one place and be compensated elsewhere on the ship. But it's a question of degree. Beyond a certain threshold it's not possible for the systems to absorb that much damage, to keep making up for the losses. The balance goes out of kilter and the ship begins to die."

Obi-Wan paused, and then asked, "Don't you want to greet our visitor?"

"It can wait."

The figure in the shadows melted more deeply into them. Mace remained as stolid and still as the pillars that supported the balcony on which they stood. Obi Wan shifted and sighed and then, almost involuntarily, began to talk again.

"When the propulsion systems fail, the ship loses its ability to hold its place in space. It still has momentum, but its orientation begins to disintegrate. It begins to lean sideways. To twist. To drift. When you see it on a viewscreen your eye interprets the motion as falling. Really, it's just gliding on its remaining momentum. Unless something stops it, the hulk will drift forever."

"And so the Star Destroyer dies."

"The thing is, Mace, it was dead long before that. At some point in this chain of events its death became inevitable. But at the time, you don't know which point it is. A Star Destroyer is huge and incredibly complex. You don't know what is happening on every part of the ship while you defend your own area. You could cross that threshold to the inevitable outcome at any time, and yet not realize that you've gone over it … until it's too late."

"I see."

"What do you see?"

"At the beginning of your tale you were watching the Star Destroyer from a distance. Through a viewscreen. Now you're on the ship. Facing death with it."

"Aren't we all?"

"Obi-Wan…"

"That's the point, you see? I keep wondering whether we will even know when we have crossed that threshold – how will we know when we have begun to die? As a government? As a civilization? As an Order? How will we know, in this chaos?"

Mace signaled to the figure in the shadows. Immediately a pale blue Twi'lek female dressed in the brown robe of a Jedi Knight arrived at his side.

"You remember V'ar, Obi-Wan," Mace re-introduced them.

"Of course." Obi-Wan slumped a little, but then obediently turned his ashen face toward the newcomer and bowed gracefully in acknowledgement, receiving a shy yet somehow glowing smile in return.

"V'ar has recently received her Knighthood. She earned it at Wayland.

Obi-Wan looked at the young Twi'lek sharply, and with considerable compassion. It had taken combined Republican Forces several weeks of destructive battles to smash through the Separatists' blockade of the Haydian Way trade route Wayland and its moons had suffered greatly in the onslaught. The Republican victory had been a narrow one, and had cost both sides dearly.

"A harsh beginning. But you are to be congratulated."

"I ask only to serve," V'ar declared steadfastly, drawing herself up straight. She was the same height as Obi-Wan, and held his gaze steadily, in a way she might not have when he had known her as a Padawan.

Obi-Wan repeated his small, courteous bow to her, and the young Knight practically shone

"V'ar," Mace announced, ignoring his battle-worn colleague for the moment, "I have an assignment for you. It is not an easy one. It will require strength of character, devious thinking, tact, immunity to disappointment, and unrelenting stubbornness. You are to become Obi-Wan's partner."

Even in the gloomy dusk, and even though she tried to hide it, the expression on V'ar's face was nothing short of radiant.

"Don't look so happy," Mace warned her. "It's a rotten assignment. You will curse me for it soon enough."

"I … Mace, with all due respect, the last thing I need is a partner!" Obi-Wan had found his voice again, and it was beginning to rise. "Things are difficult enough…"

Mace rolled his eyes at the still-glowing V'ar. "She what I mean?"

Then he turned back to Obi-Wan, and taking deliberate advantage of his greater height, stared him down.

"V'ar is no longer a Padawan. She is a fully-fledged Jedi Knight. You don't have to take care of her. In fact, her primary job will be to take care of you. You are undertaking some of the most difficult missions of all, all of them happening simultaneously, and look at you. You're a mess. I'd give you a team to help you if I could. As it is, I'm giving you the best I have. You get V'ar. Be grateful."

x

The Captain of the Star Destroyer _Victorious_ tugged at the high collar of his gray uniform, which for some reason was beginning to feel tight. From his vantage point on the command bridge he had watched Skywalker prowl the walkways above the pits for hours now. Back and forth he had stalked. Back and forth. He had stopped in every pit, conferring with the duty officers, studying readouts and setting them new tasks. However, he, the Captain, still didn't know exactly what Skywalker was up to, because the Supreme Chancellor's emissary hadn't seen fit to confer with _him_.

He ought to be angry. He ought to challenge the usurper. This was his ship, and he should be firmly in command…

He tugged at his collar again.

This had been going on since Skywalker had returned from his meeting with the Alderaanian Delegation. Skywalker had given them two gun ships – two! As if they could be spared! – and had sent them on their way. Then he had returned to the _Victorious'_ bridge …

… _my bridge…_

… and without offering a briefing to anyone had begun what looked like a massive intelligence gathering operation.

The Captain backed up toward the bank of consoles behind him and spoke softly to his second in command.

"Any idea yet what he's looking for?"

"Not so far, Sir. All the star charts they have analyzed so far are for areas outside of the Core, past Corellia, all the way through the mid-rim. He seems to be taking a particular interest in obscure trade routes that lead to some of the Outer Rim territories. He also has asked for an analysis of all incident reports along a broad corridor extending through that area, going all the way back to the years just prior to the war.

"Incident reports?"

"Not just battles, Sir. And not only military operations. He wants to know about local skirmishes. Police operations. Anything that Intelligence has flagged. They're having to access Central Intelligence on Coruscant for some of what he wants."

"He's bypassing Military Intelligence?

"Apparently so, Sir. And without any difficulty."

The Captain frowned. He had complete access to all the data and the search parameters that Skywalker had requested, of course. Any function on the ship could be accessed from the command bridge. He just couldn't piece together the larger question that Skywalker wanted answered.

_What in the Sullustian Hells is doing? And why? _Well, it was time to take some action. Skywalker had ignored him since he began all this. That had to end.

With more confidence in his stride than he actually felt, The Captain of the _Victorious _walked the long, long ramp to the bridge's forward viewscreen, where Skywalker finally had come to rest. Once again the Chancellor's emissary was staring out into space.

And as usual, the Captain didn't have to announce his presence. Skywalker addressed him first.

"Curious, Captain?"

That wasn't the opening salvo teh Captain had expected. "Er, yes…" he conceded, unable to come up with a more impressive reply on the spur of the moment. As it turned out, he was even less prepared for Skywalker's next comment.

"Are you as bored as I am?"

"Er… _what?_"

Skywalker turned around and took a step that disconcertingly closed the distance between them. The Captain fought the urge to step backward. He had to tilt his head slightly upward because the Chancellor's young Emissary was a head taller than he was.

"We've been chasing shadows and putting out fires for four weeks now. The Galaxy is being torn apart, bit by bit, in mighty battles that last for days at a time. The way things are going, it won't be long before the Core is a battlefront, too. And yet all we're doing here is keeping watch."

The Captain couldn't tear his eyes away from Skywalker's. They were mesmerizing. "It's…it's our mission, Commander. To keep watch…"

"Not much glory in that, is there, Captain?"

"Glory? Commander, I'm not sure I understand…"

"Oh, come, Captain. Don't tell me you haven't wished to be part of a major operation. A battle. It's what you have trained for, isn't it? What they taught you to expect?"

The Captain was so baffled he didn't know how to reply. Finally he merely said, "I have been trained to follow orders, Commander. And that is what I have been doing."

Skywalker rocked back on his heels.

"The enemy is out there. You and I both know it. The enemy is out there and closing in, and all we're doing is waiting for a sign so that we can raise the alarm. I don't know about you, Captain, but I would much rather find them before they find us."

"But Commander, that is not within the parameters of our mission…"

"Our mission is to protect. How better to do that than to take pre-emptive action?"

"I don't understand, Commander. Pre-emptive action against whom? Do you have new information? Did the Alderaanis give you some indication…?"

Skywalker snorted. "The diplomats? They don't even know how to protect themselves. No, Captain, we can do better by ourselves."

"I …I'm sorry, Commander. I just don't understand. What are you looking for? What are you proposing that we do?"

"What I'm looking for, Captain, is a pattern. An unusual alignment of some kind. Something that invites us to look beneath and beyond the known variables."

"And then what, Commander?" This time the captain did manage to insert a finger between his collar and his throat, hoping for a little ease. The conversation was just too… preposterous. "Do you intend to set your own mission parameters? To go beyond our orders?"

"I think our orders leave a great deal of room for discretion, Captain."

The Captain of the _Victorious_ was about to retort when Skywalker suddenly looked away, toward the Navigation Pit. A second or two later the Nav. Pit's duty officer called his name.

"Commander Skywalker? I think we might have something for you…"

The Captain followed the baffling and disconcerting young man over to the pit, and listened intently to his conversation with the Nav. officer.

It seemed that there was some evidence of heightened and very regular shipping activity in and around the neutral Correllian system. The old shipping routes to the Outer Rim Territories, the ones that had been used mostly by locals and smugglers since the establishment of the Corellian Trade Spine, seemed to be unusually well used in recent months. The Captain frowned. It was a flimsy bit of information at best.

Skywalker finished talking to the Nav officer and began to stroll back toward the forward viewscreen. The Captain fell into step beside him.

"You call that evidence of covert enemy movements? It could be anything, or anyone. The Galaxy is full of refugees."

"I agree, Captain. At the moment I merely call it something new to think about. But I intend to investigate further."

If this collar kept bothering him, he was going to have to open that top button.

"Why are you looking in that direction?" the Captain finally asked. "You know as well as I do that the Correllia system remains nonaligned. Either way, we are required to keep our distance form the neutral territories per Executive Order ..."

Skywalker cut off his recital of the letter of the law. "Let's just say I have a feeling about it."

"A feeling!" All the Captain's pent-up frustration finally found its outlet. "A feeling! That is the most preposterous, irresponsible…"

Skywalker just grinned. "Relax, Captain. Believe me when I tell you that the Supreme Chancellor _expects_ me to trust my feelings. In fact, he would be very disappointed if I didn't."

"What are you going to do, Commander?" the Star Destroyer's Captain asked with the tight-jawed, smoldering sullenness of a man whose fiefdom has been breached once and for all.

"Maintain present course and standard surveillance for the moment, Captain. I'll let you know what I decide."

On his way back to the command bridge the Captain of the _Victorious_ finally unbuttoned the topmost button of his tunic and took a deep breath.

Skywalker went back to staring into space.

x

Since the devastation brought to the ranks of the Jedi by the war, briefings at the Old Folks' Home had taken on a completely different character. Gone were the days, it seemed, when Obi-Wan had to be prepared to stand in the center of the Council Chamber for any length of time, fielding questions and challenges from the full Council. The full Council was rarely in session now. More often than not, Council members were away on missions, usually commanding substantial battle groups in some of the fiercest fighting of the war.

_Jedi are keepers of the peace, not soldiers._

The halls and gathering rooms of the Temple were noticeably emptier. Two of the larger refectories had been closed down indefinitely. Obi-Wan had spent little time in the Temple recently, but it did seem to him that people tended to cluster together a bit more, and to treat one another with the discreet yet deeply sensitive consideration of those who had shared unspeakable losses.

_It seems that we are becoming more and more precious to one another._

Today's briefing was a case in point. Obi-Wan had arrived from the Ph'zom sector only hours before. With the small, obscure planetary system of Ph'zom finally secured for the Republic after a protracted battle, General Kenobi had turned over command of the Star Destroyer _Liberator_ to his military Second as quickly as protocol allowed. Refusing all but the most minimal military escort, he then had returned to Coruscant, to the Temple, and to being merely Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight…

…only to be invited, immediately upon his return, into Master Yoda's private Chambers for a so-called 'informal' briefing before the Council.

When he entered Master Yoda's Chambers, clutching his worn traveling cloak around an exhausted body that was still riddled with the lingering emotional debris of battle, there were so few in the room that Obi-Wan had to force himself to remember that this was a briefing, and not a social occasion. He had been given a comfortable place to sit, and Master Yoda had served him tea with his own hands while the remaining Council members spoke quietly among themselves. Mace Windu, Adi Gallia, and Plo Koon had been the only other Council Members in attendance. That was one-third of the full Council. Acutely aware that these few listened and questioned and thought and deliberated for all, Obi-Wan had made an enormous effort to be as detailed in his reports as possible.

They had been patient with him. He had much to report, and much of it was difficult to speak about.

It had taken Obi-Wan a long time to describe the sudden and surprising uprising of the small, obscure world of Ph'zom. The _Liberator_ and its battle group had just rendezvoused with a Corellian vessel to bring on board the guest Obi-Wan whom hadn't wanted to entertain. Not after what he'd been through on Alderaan. No sooner had they entered Bothan space than the _Liberator _and its group had been confronted by the oddest and most unpredictable armada that Obi-wan ever had seen. Four big Confederation of Independent States droid ships, the known enemy, had arrived flanked by what looked like local military, militia, and an assortment of private vessels of all types and descriptions. The leader, whose voice had hailed the _Liberator_ group and regaled all comm. channels with a speech vowing the right of free states in a democratic republic to secede without reprisal, seemed to be Ph'zom.

"It was a passionate political plea," Obi-Wan had told the Council members thoughtfully. "What he said made sense. And what followed made it clear that, while they had Dooku's military and political backing, the cause was their own. I do not believe that Dooku browbeat the Ph'zom into secession. They were passionate about their cause. People do not fight like that …" here he had paused and taken a slow breath to steady himself…"people do not fight like that unless they believe everything they hold dear is at stake."

The room had filled with unspoken sympathy.

"They did not insist on fighting. They wanted only to be left in peace."

Silently the Council Members had joined together in the Force to surround Obi-Wan with strength and support.

"Had it been up to me, I gladly would have let them go. But it was not up to me."

The patient hush around Obi-Wan continued until he was again ready to proceed.

"In some ways it was the most brutal battle I have ever seen. The Ph'zom were outmatched from the beginning. They had to have known that. I offered to let them back down. I gave them the choice of surrender. They came at us with everything they had. The big Droid-manned destroyers kept our heavy cruisers engaged while the smaller Ph'zom vessels practically threw themselves on our light cruisers and even our gunships. It was suicide. And yet they kept coming, and coming, until we had nearly destroyed them all."

Obi-Wan had stopped, and then sought out the eyes of the ancient Jedi Master who had once admonished him not to think of Geonosis as a victory.

"We defeated them soundly, Master Yoda. But it was not a victory."

Master Yoda had nodded gravely. "Not in the nature of a Jedi it is, to be a soldier. Your compassion does you credit."

All of a sudden the tranquil atmosphere in the room had exploded into furious shards.

"Then why are we doing this?" Obi-Wan had burst out, abruptly and violently. It was an explosion of grief, of frustration, of long-pent-up outrage that even he hadn't seen coming. It mirrored the fireballs of destruction that danced behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. "Why do we continue to fight and kill and die for a Republic that is corrupt and merciless?"

"Calm yourself, Obi-Wan," Adi Gallia had ordered sternly. "Your outburst is not helpful."

Obi-Wan had ignored her, and instead surged to his feet. "Have you been present for the victory ceremonies on the separatist worlds we defeat? We round up the people, lay down martial law, and leave them a gift of yet another Republic Garrison, and maybe a Military Governor. I like to call it the "Ceremony of Invasion."

"That is enough, Obi-Wan!" Mace Windu had stood up as well.

"My compassion is worthless unless I am allowed to act on it!" Obi-Wan had yelled.

That was when Master Yoda had called a break in the briefing and Mace Windu had personally marched Obi-Wan up to the turret balcony for some air. On the way, speaking quietly into his comm., he'd notified the healers that they would be needed and had called for V'ar. If he couldn't take Obi-Wan's burden away, then at least he'd find him someone to share it.

He hoped it would help. He hoped it would be enough. And in the meantime, Obi-Wan would just have to pull himself together.

They hadn't even begun to discuss Bail Organa's response to the critical messages from the Jedi Council that Obi-wan had delivered to him in person on Alderaan. They still needed to discuss the implications of Obi-Wan's success in securing the safety of another one of Organa's band of conspirators, Senator Y'lia of the Zarrun system. And then there was the troubling question of where General Kenobi had left his Corellian passenger from the _Liberator_…

No, as far as Mace and most of the other Council members were concerned, Kenobi's most important mission had barely even begun. The first faint embers of the conspiracy against Palpatine mustn't be allowed to die out. The Jedi Council's sanction of Organa's actions wasn't enough – it was essential that the five remaining renegade Senators receive covert assistance in every way possible. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been the first person Amidala of Naboo had approached with her evidence of Palpatine's corruption, even before she had turned to Organa for help. Since then, Kenobi had won Organa's confidence by delivering Y'lia to safety, and he was likely to be the only one who could mediate successfully between Organa and the difficult Corellian…

Obi-Wan was, without a doubt, the key to the fragile conspiracy's continued survival.

Mace looked sympathetically at his battered colleague and friend, who still was staring out over the capitol city below with stormy gray eyes. "It's time to go back in."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed wearily. "I know."

"Join us in the Council meeting," Mace said to the still silent V'ar on the way back down. "This is your fight now, too."


	5. Chapter 4 Secrets and Surprises I

**Chapter 4. Secrets and Surprises I**

Since the Naboo system's Senate Delegation had left Coruscant more than a month before, the Senator's offices had been operating on an automated system with only a skeleton staff. But the Galaxy's political life, and the war, had not gone on hiatus, and so it was high time to re-establish and to strengthen the Naboo System's political and diplomatic presence at the nerve center of Galactic politics.

In order to speed the Delegation's return to Coruscant, young Queen Renalia had placed her Royal Yacht at her disposal for the journey. After all, without active, visible representation in the Senate, there was no one to safeguard the Naboo system's interests. Queen Renalia was grateful that the experienced Amidala still was willing to resume her duties despite everything that had happened. In fact, once the final decision about her reinstatement had been made, Amidala had seemed in a tearing hurry to return to Coruscant.

The Queen's Yacht was an elegant vessel designed for high-level meetings and socializing, and could comfortably accommodate the Senator, her personal staff, a security team, and other members of the official Naboo delegation and their staffs. Since the vessel itself was unarmed, it was accompanied on the journey by a heavily armed fighter wing of Naboo's Royal Security Service.

The only odd addition to the Yacht's escort was a small, snub-nosed, slightly battered vessel called a blastboat. Despite its small size it was heavily armed and hyperdrive capable. The Senator herself owned it, and she had not disclosed her reasons for bringing the vessel back to Coruscant to anyone, even her closest staff. Captain Typho had been asked to handpick a pilot to convey blastboat, the _Defiance_, on this journey.

From the moment she had embarked on the Yacht, Padmé had remained in her stateroom doing only two things: catching up on more than four long weeks' worth of Senate business, and keeping an eye on the comm. messages in case Anakin got in touch. So far, he hadn't contacted her since she had transmitted the Delegation's flight plan in yet another one of their all-to-brief and unsatisfying conversations via holo-transmission. Padmé had stayed up late into the first night onboard working, and gone back to it again early on the second day. Most of her work involved reading reports and mulling over the legislation that had been proposed or passed in her absence. That left her staff largely idle and at loose ends.

Halfway through the three-day journey, Sabé had had enough. "I'm so bored!" she'd complained to Dormé, who seemed reasonably content and always found something useful to do.

"What would you like to do, if you had the chance?" Dormé had asked, just to humor her.

"Punch something,"

"You need exercise," Dormé had sighed. "You always get like this when you can't move around."

Two hours later, after an exhaustive and slightly frenetic search through all of all the Yacht's storage facilities, Sabé had pounced upon something she regarded as genuine treasure – six long staves with thickly padded ends.

"Tak'an!" she'd crowed triumphantly. "I haven't sparred with these in ages!"

"Neither has anyone else," Dormé had observed dubiously over her shoulder, frowning at Sabé's discovery. "Those things are purely ceremonial. They must be left over from some traditional ceremony or other."

Sabé was not to be deterred. An hour after that she had seen to it that the large conference room was completely cleared of furniture, and most of the female staff had been invited to refresh long-neglected skills in sparring with one of Naboo's most ancient weapons. Either they were all bored, too, or Sabé's powers of persuasion were as good as ever, but most of the women on the staff agreed to join in.

Then she went to see Padmé. Sure enough, she found her mistress hunched over a pile of work, oblivious to anything around her.

Sabé crept up behind Padmé and covered her eyes.

"There will be plenty for time for that once we get to Coruscant, My Lady." Sabé half-expected to have her hands slapped away.

"I already have resumed my duties." Padmé said with surprising restraint. "This can't wait. The backlog…"

"… is awful, I know," Sabé finished for her, removing her hands voluntarily. "But it will get done. It always does. When did you last take a break?"

"Three days ago. Now go away. I have work to do."

"I have a better idea."

"Not likely," Padmé said, trying hard to ignore her Handmaiden. "I'm going back to work now."

Sabé leaned down close to Padmé's ear and said in an exaggerated whisper, "Two words: weapons training."

Padmé finally abandoned her documents and turned around.

"What are you talking about?"

Sabé grinned. "Hand-to-hand combat. We've cleared the large conference room out completely to make a space – Dormé, Vespé, Dellia, and several of the women on the office staff – so we can spend some time sparring. No one's had the opportunity for a real workout lately."

For a moment, just a moment, there was a flicker of real animation in Padmé's eyes. Then she looked away, as though she had realized it and wanted to hide it.

"I don't have time."

Sabé shrugged nonchalantly. "Your choice. You wouldn't stand a chance against me, anyway. You've gotten really soft lately." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "All that moping, I guess."

The crinkles deepened when Padmé stood up abruptly. "I'll meet you there," she said crisply.

Sabé bowed deeply. "Very good, My Lady." She began to back out of Padmé's stateroom. "I'll look forward to pounding your…" The stateroom door slid shut just in time. That last comment was probably pushing things too far, even for her. But it was nice to see Padmé's famous warrior streak emerge again. Even if the Senator from the Naboo System didn't stand a chance of beating her.

x

_Think, _Anakin admonished himself while he paced back and forth in the relatively spacious private cabin that had been allocated him on the _Victorious. _It was spacious because it took six restless strides to cover the distance from the door to the featureless far wall, rather than the three or four paces that might have been sufficient to cover the length of the standard crew accommodations.

Other than its slightly greater size and the cabin's location on the upper deck that was restricted to the higher-ranking officers, the only other distinguishing feature in Anakin's cabin was a small holo-projector. He had programmed it with the best security measures he could devise, and it was keyed to his personal codes only. If anyone else tried to use it, the transmitter would remain as inactive as a rivet in a wall panel.

_Think, _Anakin urged himself again, never breaking his stride. Every time he passed it, he shot a glance at the mute holo-projector. The cabin floor was firm underfoot, but Anakin couldn't shake the feeling that he was balancing on a very narrow beam as he paced. A knife edge, really. It would take only one slip do a lot of damage.

He wondered whether he'd already made that slip.

_Think. _He had wanted to get closer to a certain system in the Outer Rim territories. To Padmé. But he couldn't leave the battle group. Therefore, he'd had to find an excuse to move the battle group closer to where he wanted to be. In Anakin's experience, you always found something if you turned over enough rocks.

The problem was, he'd turned over a big enough rock and found quite a hive of activity – but the activity wasn't occurring near Naboo. It was taking place off-limits in the neutral territories in the Correllian system – a place where even he couldn't exactly bring a Republic battle group. But his time was getting short, the Naboo Delegation already was en route to Coruscant, and if he didn't get in touch with Padmé quickly, the Naboo would calculate their jumps in a way that he wouldn't be able to intercept them before they reached the Core sector – the same place where Organa's ships had been attacked.

Anakin glared at the holo-projector again as he passed it.

He couldn't commit to a rendezvous with Padmé without being reasonably certain that the mega-diversion that he was creating wouldn't backfire. While he had a great deal of leeway in his actions, and used it to the fullest, even Anakin trod a careful line between taking the initiative and throwing caution entirely to the winds. Given the political ramifications of the questionable activity he had uncovered, he suspected he might be pushing that boundary; the only safe way forward was to obtain permission to investigate further. And the person from whom he needed permission was the one person in the universe most likely to see through his game of smoke and mirrors.

Abruptly, Anakin stopped pacing. He'd done his thinking. He needed more information about the pattern that was beginning to take shape through the rough data he had uncovered, and he needed it now. Thinking was done. It was time to act. He had some skills. It was time to rely upon himself, and to use them.

The waves of active energy that Anakin had been stirring up in cabin began to settle and shift as he stilled himself and prepared to go inward. Far inward. Drawing those energies close, wrapping himself in them like a cloak, Anakin stood in the center of his windowless cabin and called up a living image of the vast space outside the _Victorious_ as clearly as if he was looking out a viewscreen. Once again he created within that space the image of a column of flame burning around him and through him; a flame that consumed the living energies of the Force and then released them back to him in the form of clarity of vision and the power to explore the vastness of space. The flame meditation was still new to Anakin; he had not yet explored how far it could take him. He was astonished by its power, and by the depth and lucidity of vision it enabled.

Traveling through infinity on the wings of that power, Anakin gained a great deal of information, but lost track of time. When he returned to his normal awareness, a quick check of the ship's chrono surprised and dismayed him. He bounded toward the wall mounted comm. unit and transmitted a specific order to the command bridge. Then he circled back to the holo-projector, glaring at it as though it might spring to life on its own, and debated making that call to Coruscant.

But still he hesitated.

x

By the time Padmé arrived in the makeshift training room wearing a form-fitting training suit that luckily still fit, a number of matches already were underway. With real pleasure she threw herself into a long series of stretches and warm-up exercises, while Sabé lurked in the background leaning on a pair of long staves. She was practically tapping her foot.

Finally Padmé picked up one of the staves and scowled. "I haven't used a Tak'an in ages. Is this all we have?"

"We're lucky to have these." Sabé already was circling her, holding her own weapon horizontally, lightly balanced in both hands. "I found them in a storeroom." She pounced before she even finished speaking, catching Padmé's staff with a resounding 'thwack' and almost knocking it out of her hands.

Almost.

"Oh, no you don't!" Padmé regained her handhold and lunged. Sabé dodged, and they were off. Padmé struggled for a while to find her balance with the unaccustomed weapon, but before long she had the rhythm of it again, and her reflexes became quicker, her attacks, more decisive. It helped that her sparring partner was Sabé, who could take care of herself. Padmé didn't feel she needed to hold back, and took more and more pleasure in the movement of her muscles and in the flow of energy through her body.

"Not bad," Sabé panted when Padmé landed a particularly hard blow near the end of her staff that knocked her backwards. She countered with a figure-of eight attack that very soon had Padmé backing and defending again.

Padmé quickly regained the advantage, but Sabé was fast and devious. A sudden feint toward her midsection unexpectedly cost Padmé her balance, and she went over backwards on to hard floor of the dining salon.

"Ow."

Sabé reached down a hand to help her up. "I take it back. That was amateur. You should have seen that one coming."

"I did see it coming," Padmé grumped. "Let's try again."

They circled one another for a second time. Padmé waited for Sabé to take the offensive, which didn't take long. Poised and ready for the attack, Padmé deflected Sabé's first two thrusts, and then got in two creditable blows of her own before Sabé recovered.

"Better," Sabé said approvingly, and immediately attacked again. Padmé backed and parried. They held their staves horizontally, hands spaced wide apart, using the middle of the stave between their hands for defense, while the padded ends swung in controlled arcs, landing blow after blow on the opponent's stave.

Padmé was feeling quite confident when Sabé suddenly stepped up the pressure. Bringing her hands close together near one end of the stave, Sabé changed her handhold enough to make it into a very different weapon, with a longer reach and a higher swing. Padmé leaped back defensively and changed her handhold as well. Their staves crashed together high overhead, then on one side, then on the other. The longer arc and slower speed were compensated by harder hits. Padmé's shoulders ached. Sweat began to drip down her neck.

Sabé kept pushing her, advancing on her. Padmé swung low and hard. Sabé blocked her. Before Padmé could pull her stave back to defensive position Sabé lunged again, right toward her middle. Instead of turning sideways and countering with a fast block Padmé folded forward and managed to deflect the speeding head of Sabé's weapon only enough to keep from being hit hard. The blow glanced off her arm, knocking her sideways. She stumbled and fell again.

Sabé immediately propped her Tak'an upright on the floor to signal time out. "Are you all right, My Lady?"

"I'm fine," Padmé gasped. "Sorry I missed that one."

"This isn't like you," Sabé frowned. "I'm better at this than you are because I'm supposed to be, but I have to know that you can defend yourself. Makeshift weapons similar to Tak'an – big sticks, for all intents and purposes – can be found or made in almost any situation."

"Give me a good blaster any day," Padmé groaned, getting up.

Sabé wasn't through with her lecture yet. "I've never seen you defend your center like this before, My Lady. It's as though you have a 'trigger zone' at your midline. Every time I attack there, you cave."

Padmé felt her cheeks color from more that the heat of the exercise. She only could think of one reason why she was instinctively protecting her center like that. She glared at Sabé.

"Maybe that's because I have a great deal to protect."

Sabé dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, My Lady. I didn't realize that pregnancy would affect you so profoundly at this early stage. Do you want to try again?"

"Not just now." Padmé reached for a nearby towel and wiped her neck. "I'll watch the others for a while."

"As you wish." Sabé bowed in the ancient etiquette of civilized combatants, but she kept looking at Padmé with an odd expression.

Padmé returned the bow. "What is it? Why are you looking at me that way?"

"I…." Sabé began, and then stopped. "You're very brave, My Lady. I think I didn't realize just how much until this moment."

Padmé didn't take Sabé's blunt statement as praise. She took it as a shrewd assessment of her profound vulnerability. "Oh, stop it," she mumbled, feeling ill at ease. Draping the towel around her neck she tried to slip away, only to be stopped by Sabé's hand on her arm and the intense look in her eyes.

"I will protect you, My Lady. No matter what."

"I know you will," Padmé said with a wan smile. "Thank you." Feeling more exposed than ever despite Sabé's intention to reassure her, Padmé finally escaped to the other side of the Dining Salon where a group of onlookers had gathered around a fast and furious Tak'an match.

x

"Skywalker has given the order," the Captain of the _Victorious_ murmured to his second in command, pointing at a star chart on the command console. "We're to proceed to this point, very close to the neutral territories of Corellia."

"It seems he wants to take a closer look."

"If that's what he wants, that's what we will do," the Captain of the _Victorious_ said composedly. "Relay the order throughout the battle group. Begin calculations for the jump to hyperspace." He leaned closer to the other officer and lowered his voice slightly. "But before we make the jump, transmit our course change to Coruscant, and make sure that message is flagged."

"Aye, Sir." The _Victorious'_ Executive Officer was unable to repress the faintest of smiles.

x

Padmé watched the contest between Dellia, whom Padmé had hired on after all in the haste of her departure, and Vespé, one of the younger Handmaidens, with interest. She'd never had the opportunity to watch either woman fight before.

As a trained decoy,Vespé was close to Padmé's height with similar dark hair. She had begun her service as a Handmaiden as a very young and shy teenager. After having taken some time out for further education, she had returned as a much more confidant young woman. And she had improved as a fighter; she was quick thinking and fast on her feet.

Dellia was the taller of the two – a rangy, light-haired, long-limbed Northerner. Although she tended to be a bit slower than her opponent, she had a longer reach. She also seemed to have a single-minded stubbornness that kept her going where others might have become discouraged.

Dellia had been with Padmé on Coruscant for a year as her personal Secretary. It had been her first assignment, and her first time away from Naboo. Padmé had particular sympathy and compassion for Dellia because she'd had the bad luck to fall into a passionate love affair with a Jedi Padawan named Lon Erian. Shortly before the Delegation's return to Naboo the Padawan had repented and ended their affair, leaving Dellia grief-stricken. To make it even worse, Lon had been killed under mysterious circumstances during the recent disaster on Naboo. Padmé admired Dellia's spirit – despite the unhappy memories, she'd agreed to return to Coruscant with the Delegation for another tour of duty.

At the moment Dellia didn't seem as though she needed any compassion at all – she had the upper hand in the match and was pushing her opponent hard. Quick though she was, Vespé was finding it impossible to get past her defenses. The room was filled with the rhythmic 'thwack' sounds of the crashing weapons and the encouraging murmurs of the onlookers.

Then, quite suddenly, the dynamic changed. Vespé came from underneath and aimed the end of her Tak'an straight at Dellia's midsection. Instantly Dellia's otherwise excellent defense collapsed and she ended up falling awkwardly sideways rather than deflecting a fairly straightforward attack. Vespé grinned and held her Tak'an overhead with both hands to signify victory.

"Look," Padmé pointed out to Sabé, who had come up behind her. "Dellia's doing the same thing I was."

"Yes, "Sabé agreed, with a little growl in her voice. "She is." She paused. "_Exactly_ the same thing."

There was a short, pointed silence between them. Then Padmé whispered, "No… surely not."

"I'll bet she is," Sabé whispered back. "Why, that little… if she is pregnant, she deliberately didn't tell anyone until after she'd accepted the job and we had embarked. And she was really, really eager to get the job…"

"I know," Padmé murmured. "She caught me when I was in the middle of something and practically begged me to take her back to Coruscant. I was in a hurry, so…" Padmé didn't know whether to be sorry for Dellia, or furious with her, so she decided to be both. Just for good measure, she added in a little irritation at herself and her incautious haste.

"A secret like that is hard to keep for long. Eventually, the truth comes out."

"I know," Padmé said again, more gloomily this time.

Sabé patted her shoulder. "You will be all right. You'll see. But what do want to do about Dellia? I _knew _I left her off my list for a reason…"

"Tell Dellia I want to see her after she's done here." Padmé turned to leave the conference room. "This discussion has to remain private. And I need to think about what to say to her."

Sabé's eyes darted over her shoulder and then back to Padmé's face. "Think fast," she whispered. Then speaking in a normal tone of voice she added, "Here is Dellia, My Lady. You wanted to see her?"

Padmé turned to see that Dellia arrived at her side, flushed, a little breathless, and looking quite lovely. Her rust-brown eyes even had a little sparkle, which Padmé hadn't seen in them since that Erian boy had abandoned her. Padmé was happy to see it, but it made the conversation she needed to have with the young woman all the more difficult.

"You need me, My Lady?" Dellia smiled and pushed some damp strands of hair out of her face.

"Come with me, Dellia," Padmé said unhappily. "There is something we need to talk about."

x

Anakin's hesitation about initiating the holo-transmission made the decision for him. The ship wide warning klaxon indicating an imminent jump to light speed sounded, ending the possibility of outside communication for the duration of the jump.

Anakin closed his eyes and made some quick calculations.

This was going to be close.


	6. Chapter 5 Secrets and Surprises II

**Chapter 5. Secrets and Surprises II**

The hyperspace jump to a point just beyond the Breva system, one of the Corellia system's many secretive 'Outlier' systems, was a relatively short one. Anakin spent the entire time down inside the Nav. pit of the _Victorious _while the Star Destroyer's Captain prowled the walkways overhead.

Together with the _Victorious'_ chief Nav. officer Anakin soaked up layers and layers system charts for Corellia and the areas immediately adjacent to its borders. Nothing was too small or too routine to engage his interest. He absorbed layer of detail, whether small and incomplete or large and comprehensively documented, about trade routes, industrial clusters, transportation hubs, communications relay stations and the overlapping nets they cast was of interest to him.

When Anakin looked at the charts over the Nav officer's shoulder, he probably was seeing quite different things than the soldier was. Where the officer saw political boundaries Anakin saw only directionless space with an infinite number of possibilities for traversing it. Where the Nav officer saw charted jump trajectories and trade routes, Anakin speculated about the secret jump lanes that had been used for centuries by those who didn't want to be found. Where the Nav officer saw overlapping coverage from the beams and pulses of a huge range of defense and communications networks, Anakin saw the gaps between the signals and their weak points.

The flame meditation that he had concluded so recently had revealed to him – reminded him, really – of something very important: there were no boundaries in space. Not really. Anything that called itself a boundary or a border was a conceit of those who thought that a vacuum, an empty abyss, could be owned or controlled. To the person who wanted to get somewhere badly enough, there was always going to be a way over, under, around or through. So while the Nav officer looked at the data and charts before him seeing the lines and links and substance of the known universe, Anakin was much more interested in judging the spaces in between.

Absorbed as he was in the information before him, Anakin was startled when another ship-wide klaxon marked the near-end of the _Victorious'_ hyperspace jump.

_Almost there._

Anakin gave some final instructions to the Nav officer and, bypassing the short ladder provided for the purpose, lightly hoisted himself onto the walkway above the Nav pit. Very lightly. The officer he'd been working with glanced up at him with a startled look on his face, but then quickly turned back to his console.

Without bothering to update the _Victorious'_ Captain on his activities, Anakin hurried back to his sleeping cabin in a kind of controlled sprint. Stopping in front of the mute holo-projector, he composed a very brief word-only message that contained specific set of coordinates and a two-word text, and programmed the machine to transmit the message at the earliest possible moment after the _Victorious_ everted to realspace.

_Meet me. _The words held their form in his heart even as the machine disassembled them into a signal that it sent out into the aether.

That done, Anakin threw himself onto his bunk face up with his hands clasped behind his head, and struggled with the most difficult task of all: waiting. It was something he never had mastered properly in the best of circumstances. Waiting to see Padmé was enough to make him feel like jumping out of his own skin.

Fortunately it wouldn't be long now.

x

Padmé ushered Dellia into the stateroom she occupied on the Queen's Yacht. For once it was empty of other people. Padmé struggled to find a way to begin the unpleasant conversation, acutely aware in the unusual quiet of the soft "whoosh" of the door as it slid closed behind them; of the faint hiss of the circulating air; of the far-away rhythm of the ships' engines. Looking a little wary in the face of Padmé's initial silence, Dellia took the proffered seat and waited politely.

Not knowing how else to begin, Padmé jumped straight in.

"I understand that you may be pregnant, Dellia." She said the words gently and kindly, but watched Dellia carefully. Her response would indicate how Padmé would approach the discussion.

Dellia blushed fiercely, but her voice was steady and cool when she replied, "Yes, My Lady. I am."

"Did you know of your condition when you signed on for this tour of duty?"

"Yes, My Lady, I did." The young woman held her chin high, but volunteered neither an apology nor a reason for hiding her pregnancy.

"You should have told me," Padmé chided gently.

"Would you have taken me back to Coruscant with you if I had?" Dellia's eyes still held a spark, but it was a different kind of fire. Bravado, perhaps… and something more that Padmé couldn't immediately identify.

Padmé paused to consider her. Dellia offered no confessions, no explanations. No intimacy. _Have we always been this distant from one another?_ Padmé wondered. _I thought we were closer than this._ Their two families had known one another forever. Padmé had given the girl a fabulous opportunity with her first job. She had been patient with her inexperienced young secretary's mistakes. She had been supportive when Dellia had been so devastated by the end of her ill-advised love affair that she couldn't work. She gladly had offered her a second chance with a new tour of duty. Yet here the young woman sat, closed, watchful and defiant.

On the far side of the sitting room a discrete light flashed on Padmé's personal holo-projector, indicating an incoming message. In the intensity of their conversation, neither woman noticed it.

"I'm not here to judge you, Dellia." Padmé said gently. "Far from it. It just seems that this would be a time when you would be happiest in the shelter of your family."

For the first time, Dellia dropped her eyes, and her features softened so that she looked younger and a little less certain. "I'm afraid my parents don't see eye to eye with me on this, My Lady. They don't want me to raise this child on my own. They want me to give it up for adoption… a cousin of mine even offered to take it…" She looked up at Padmé. The hardness and rebelliousness were back. "But I won't give it up. It's mine. It's _his. _I won't."

_She really loved him_, Padmé realized, with an overwhelming surge of empathy. _Who am I to lecture Dellia on how she should conduct herself? _

On the other hand, Padmé reminded herself firmly, this was a personnel issue, not a personalone, and needed to be dealt with as such.

"Dellia, you signed on for a tour of a standard year, knowing that you will not be able to complete your service."

"Yes, My Lady." She certainly seemed unrepentant.

"You counted on my goodwill."

"I counted on your compassion and understanding, My Lady. Surely you, of all people, know that sometimes, rules will be broken." Dellia's eyes glinted with that odd light again. "Even those of the Jedi."

Padmé's breath caught briefly. Dellia's thinly veiled barb certainly had been meant personally, and it undoubtedly had been intended to play on Padmé's guilt.

Well, it had succeeded. Not only hadn't she been a good role model for the girl, but it weighed heavily on her that ultimately, it had been Anakin who had instigated Dellia's affair with that Jedi Padawan. It had begun as a prank, but it had become so much more. And now it had come to this.

_Anakin, I'm atoning for both our sins._

"All right, Dellia," Padmé said quietly. "I won't put you out or send you back home. You have a place with me for as long as you are able to work, and we'll see what to do after that."

"Thank you, My Lady," Dellia said, taking Padmé's generous offer as though it were her right. There seemed to be more triumph than gratitude in her eyes.

The light on the holo-projector continued to flash unnoticed.

x

Anakin was as elated as a child when, not long after he had settled down to wait for a reply from Padmé, his holo-projector indicated an incoming message. In a flood of excitement he leaped to his feet and accepted the transmission.

It was remarkable how quickly the heat in his veins turned cold when the crystal-clear holo-image of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic appeared before him. Caught dangerously off guard, Anakin couldn't even articulate a greeting.

"Well, Anakin," the Chancellor's image said. "I haven't received a report from you in some time. And yet it seems you have some news for me."

With a violent effort Anakin clamped down on his emotions and fought to think clearly. "I was waiting until I had some specifics to report, Your Excellency." Mercifully his voice was steady.

Palpatine's tone was bland. "You have removed an entire battle group from its Core Sector patrol mission to a covert position at the edge of the neutral territories. I can only assume that you have your reasons for having made this decision. I would quite like to know what they are."

_Breathe_, Anakin reminded himself while his mind raced. _Now talk. _As nonchalantly as possible, he forced himself to say, "I thought … I felt … that our patrols were not as effective as they could be. That by searching only for CIS incursions, we are missing other enemies. Or at least … Anakin swallowed… other faces that the enemy might wear."

There was a distinct pause. "Go on."

Anakin plunged on, "After we foiled a covert attack on the Alderaani Delegation…"

"What?" Palpatine's voice cut into the room.

Hastily Anakin explained the battle group's rescue of Senator Organa's ships.

"I see," was Palpatine's only reply.

The Supreme Chancellor's tone gave nothing away, but for reasons he couldn't understand Anakin felt an ominous prickling in the back of his neck that quickly migrated down his spine. He shrugged it off. This was no time for distractions. "After that I began searching for evidence of other, similar dissident groups or plots." Briefly he outline his findings so far.

"And the strength of this evidence, and only this evidence, you chose to enter the neutral territories?"

"Yes," Anakin began, and then quickly contradicted himself. "No. I … I have been using the flame meditation that you suggested to me for part of my investigation. My impressions… my _experiences, _using that method are very specific."

"Ahhh." Even in the transparent image from the holo-projector, the abrupt change in Palpatine's demeanor was noticeable. He leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of him. "I'm very glad that you saw fit to follow my advice. What have you found?"

Anakin struggled to find words that could accurately portray information that had revealed itself to him only as powerful images in the Force. He wasn't at all certain of the extent of the Supreme Chancellor's understanding of the Jedi arts. It had been revealed to him only recently, and in their few private chats since, Palpatine's comments had been limited to general advice and warm encouragement. Palpatine clearly was not, and never had been, a Jedi, but Anakin suspected strongly that the Chancellor's knowledge of the Force was much greater than he let on. The harrowing uncertainty about who …_or what?…_ the Republic's Supreme Chancellor might actually be, kept Anakin constantly on edge and defensive.

In this case, Anakin decided to be straightforward and specific about his experience with the flame meditation. After all, it had been Palpatine who had described it in detail and suggested he avail himself of it.

"I found… _intention," _Anakin offered carefully._ "_I found densely clustered, specific, purposeful movements in the Forcethat coincide with the evidence of increased traffic and economic activity that our intelligence sources have provided." Cautiously, Anakin went on to outline a possible scenario of multiple covert bases of activity in and among the Outlier systems of Corellia, accessed by secret hyperlanes and masked by an interlocking series of decoy "And…Supreme Chancellor," he finished, "our current position is well outside of the neutral territory boundary. Surely you feel you can trust my judgment about something like that."

"Of course, my boy," the Supreme Chancellor's image said genially. "Of course." For some reason he seemed much happier than he had at the beginning of the conversation. Anakin couldn't relax yet, though. Everything depended on what the Chancellor decided he should do next.

"Would you like me to investigate?" Anakin offered reluctantly. "I could do it covertly…" He tried hard not to think about the time that was passing, and with it, the narrow opportunity to intercept the Naboo Delegation…

"No," Palpatine decided, to Anakin's unutterable relief. "Not yet. This is something that I would like to deal with through diplomatic channels at first." He smiled. "Of course, the information …the _possibilities_… that your initiative has uncovered will aid immensely in those discussions."

Anakin nodded gravely at the Supreme Chancellor's holo-image, trying to keep his knees from shaking with relief.

"In fact," Palpatine went on, "I would like for you to leave the battle group to its prior mission and to return to Coruscant now. There are some things we need to discuss."

"As you wish, Your Excellency." Inside, Anakin was jumping up and down like a child.

"I assume it will not be difficult to find transport from your current location?"

Again, the innocuous question made the back of Anakin's neck prickle horribly again. _Could he possibly suspect that I've done all this so I can meet up with Padmé? _Anakin wondered. _But the information I've turned up is real…_ His fighting instincts kicked in. The best way to deal with a feint was with an on-point counterattack.

Anakin tried to imitate the bland tone that Palpatine often used to such good effect. "As it happens, Your Excellency, the Naboo Delegation is on its way to Coruscant as we speak. I'm certain that from my position here I could arrange to rendezvous with my wife's ship."

Palpatine's holo-image paused and touched its steepled fingers to its lips while Anakin's pulse pounded in his ears. _One…two…three._

"Well, then, Anakin. I will see you upon your _immediate_ return."

The image disappeared before Anakin could make a reply. Alone again, he closed his eyes and practiced breathing in and out for a few precious minutes. Then, when he was able, he reached for the comm. and gave the order to locate and intercept the Naboo Delegation.

He was through waiting for an answer to his message.

x

After the unplanned-for diversions of Sabé's spontaneous and unorthodox exercise program, followed by the uncomfortable discussion with her Secretary, Padmé wanted nothing more than to retreat back into her work. With relief, she turned the conversation back to the business of the day and set a series of tasks that would keep both her and Dellia fully occupied long into the night.

But first they both needed to clean up and change clothes.

"Half an hour," Padmé stipulated. "Then I want you back here and ready to work."

"To be sure, My Lady," Dellia agreed somewhat breathlessly. It seemed that she, too was happy to return their relationship to the more comfortable arena of work.

Almost exactly that half-hour later Padmé was just emerging from her fresher wearing only an embroidered dressing gown over her shift and drying her hair when the ship-wide warning claxon sounded so harshly and unexpectedly that she jumped. Dellia already had reappeared in her stateroom, neatly dressed and in full Secretary mode. Before Padmé could react, she grabbed the comm. link and spoke to the Bridge. She looked up at Padmé in consternation.

"The Captain says that we are being approached by a Republic Army battle group." Dellia swallowed. "They have ordered us to stop."

"Republic Army?" Padmé repeated, making sure that she had heard right. "Have they identified themselves and stated their purpose?" While Dellia repeated her questions into the comm., Padmé fought down a sickening heave of panic.

"They say that we are to prepare to be boarded, My Lady."

"What?" They stared at one another in dismay.

"You don't think …this isn't starting all over again, is it?" Dellia asked anxiously, giving voice to Padmé's own fears. "I thought… we all thought… that the charges against you had been dropped."

Padmé stared at her, thinking furiously. If Supreme Chancellor Palpatine could have Senator Amidala arrested once on manufactured charges, what was to stop him from doing it again? But why would he? Appalling as it was, they had a bargain… he and Anakin had a bargain.

But Anakin hadn't been in touch since Padmé had boarded the Yacht. Automatically Padmé shot a glance toward the holo-projector. Actually, the light was blinking to indicate an incoming message, but there was no time to answer it now.

"I thought so, too," Padmé said tersely. "But it's hard to think of another reason for this blockade."

Dellia still held the comm. with an open channel to the Yacht's Captain. Given the choice between fear and anger, Padmé chose to be angry. It felt more empowering. Deep down she knew that she should approach the situation with calm and reason, but where the Chancellor might be involved, she no longer knew how.

A faint tug of hope made her glance at the blinking message light again. Could this have something to do with Anakin? The urge to see the message was overpowering, but duty called.

"Give me the comm.," she demanded. "I'll deal with this myself." She grabbed the comm. link and identified herself to the yacht's Captain.

"What do they want, Captain? Why are we to be boarded?"

"They won't say, My Lady."

_They won't say._ Not Anakin, then. Padmé's heart sank.

"What do you mean, they won't say? This is a diplomatic vessel on Republic business," Padmé snapped. The sour taste of fear was still in her mouth, but it was rapidly being replaced by something more palatable.: outrage. "The military have no jurisdiction over us, and no right to demand that we comply. Have you explained that to them?"

"I have, My Lady, of course," the Captain hurried to defend himself. "But they won't give us an explanation." There was a sudden shuddering jolt that had Padmé on her feet as soon as it ended. "They just locked us onto a tractor beam, My Lady. We're being pulled into their Star Destroyer."

"Patch me through to the Battle Group's Commander!" Padmé roared. "And tell Captain Typho I want a Security team in the hatch bay now!"

"At once, My Lady. Stand by."

"Dellia, go brief the others in the dining salon," Padmé ordered while she waited. The girl's earlier bravado had disappeared; her eyes were huge with worry. Padmé impulsively patted her shoulder to convey reassurance that she didn't feel. "Go!" she commanded. Dellia fled. In a moment, Padmé heard her own Captain's voice again.

"I'm so sorry, My Lady, the Group Commander refuses our hail."

"I'm on my way," Padmé snarled, and flung herself out of the stateroom and toward the Yacht's bridge. As she strode down the corridor Padmé tried futilely to tuck her still-damp hair back more neatly. If she did succeed in confronting the Battle Group's Commander, she wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. It was hard to imagine a more disadvantageous scenario.

It didn't help that, once she reached the Bridge, the Yacht's Captain inadvertently let his eyes linger on her a moment or two longer than propriety allowed. Padmé scowled at him and he instantly looked away. With all the dignity she could muster, Padmé took up a position beside him and watched the proceedings.

The Yacht's viewscreen already was filled with the vast underbelly of a Republic military Starcruiser. The large rectangular hatch of the docking bay was open, and the Yacht apparently was moving inexorably toward it.

"Where's our fighter wing?" Padmé barked.

"Captain Typho ordered them to stand down. We can't fight something like that."

"Of course not. We're supposed to be on the same side. But I'll be very curious to hear their explanation for this outrage."

There was a long, tense silence on the bridge while the Yacht moved slowly into position beneath the huge open hatch, shuddered to a stop, and then shifted its trajectory as it slowly was drawn into the belly of the Starcruiser. Suddenly the Captain's comm. sounded shrilly into the silence. Padmé snatched it first.

"Senator Amidala here. What is the meaning of this?"

"The Group Commander will meet you in the docking bay, Senator," a businesslike voice informed her. "If you would be so kind."

"Is Captain Typho in position?" Padmé whispered to the Yacht's Captain.

"Yes, My Lady."

Without giving the voice on the comm. the courtesy of a reply Padmé tossed the device back to him and stalked off the Bridge. He spoke into it quickly, and then called after her, "My Lady, Captain Typho asks that you wait here for an escort …"

Padmé did not wait.

She made her way to the hatch bay, two levels below, via a narrow utility stairway and arrived in the small receiving bay to find its walls lined with armed Royal Security Service personnel. Captain Typho stood at its center, holding a comm. link. The ship's hatch still was closed.

"They are asking us to open the hatch, My Lady," Typho said, as soon as he saw her.

"Go ahead," Padmé ordered, taking a deep breath.

Typho passed on the order and with a slight whine the Yacht's inner hatch slid aside. Next, with the bone-shaking vibration of heavy machinery being engaged, the Yacht's outer hatch moved slowly aside and its wide gangway was lowered, revealing the cavernous, wide-open docking bay of a Republic Star Destroyer.

Padmé gasped, as did Captain Typho beside her.

Standing at the foot of the gangway was a single, tall figure draped in a dark cloak. Even before the gangway was fully lowered, and ignoring any requirements of protocol, he jumped lightly onto the ramp and strode up to meet them. He paused at the top of the ramp, looked the Senator from the Naboo system over openly and appreciatively, and smiled a very crooked, very pleased smile.

Captain Typho groaned.

Padmé put her hands on her hips. "Anakin Skywalker," she began, but before she could get out another word he had reached her with two last long strides and greeted her with a kiss that made everyone else in the hatch bay look away uncomfortably.

When he released her again Padmé was speechless.

"Surprise," Anakin said cheerfully. "I just couldn't wait to see you."

"You're the Commander of this Battle Group?" Captain Typho growled in disbelief beside Padmé, whose heart was pounding very hard.

"I have been. Now we're parting ways because I've been recalled to Coruscant." Anakin looked around the hatch bay at the Naboo Security personnel. "It's just me. Do you really think you need all this firepower?"

In her utter surprise at Anakin's dramatic entrance Padmé had forgotten all about the armed men who surrounded her. She nodded at Captain Typho, who always understood her wishes. He signaled the troops to stand at ease and sent them filing out of the hatch bay. Then he bowed deeply to Padmé, spared barely a nod for Anakin, and followed his men out the door.

Anakin laughed.

Padmé grabbed him around the middle and held on tightly, while his arms brought her instant comfort and happiness as they slid around her shoulders. "I don't know what to say," she admitted to his chest.

"Say you love me," Anakin supplied helpfully. "Say you're happy to see me."

"Yes," Padmé said. "And yes."

"Now say, 'Let's go somewhere more private…'"

Padmé moaned, and with one arm still slung securely around her husband's waist, began to pull him toward the hatch bay exit. "Do you have any more helpful suggestions?"

"Many," he said comfortably, pulling her closer, as they walked, with the arm that was draped over her shoulders. Padmé leaned into him. He was all right. He felt solid, and strong and safe. She, on the other hand, felt weak and shaky with relief and grateful to rest against him. Just for the moment.


	7. Chapter 6 Echoes of the Past

**Chapter 6. Echoes of the Past**

**  
**

Padmé and Anakin walked all the way back to Padmé's stateroom openly entwined, attracting quite a few deeply curious looks along with the occasional smile from those who saw them. The Senator's marriage had been formally announced, but it was the first time that anyone on the Yacht had seen her in such an intimate embrace in public.

"I can tell you're happy to see me," Anakin murmured as they made their way through the Yacht's corridors.

"Why, because I'm draped around you for everyone to see?" Padmé asked good-naturedly.

"Well, yes, that… and the fact that you haven't asked me how I managed to divert a whole battle group to my personal errand."

"I was planning to ask you that. Later."

"Thought so," Anakin grinned. "You won't believe it when I tell you. I've had the most amazing luck… and of course, I get to come back to Coruscant with you."

"How long can you stay?" Padmé asked breathlessly.

"I don't know yet. But I'll string it out as long as I can."

When the door to Padmé's stateroom opened Dellia was there, consulting in a low voice with Sabé, who was waving a comm. link in the air to emphasize something she was saying. Both women stood upon Padmé's entrance.Captain Typho must have called ahead because neither one looked surprised to see Anakin, but their expressions couldn't have been more different.

Sabé cocked her head and raised one eyebrow, as she looked Anakin up and down quite unashamedly. "So it's you causing all this trouble," she said dryly. "Why does this not surprise me?"

Anakin responded with an exaggeratedly gracious bow. "Sabé. What a pleasure it is to see you again."

But throughout their exchange it was Dellia's face that Padmé watched. The girl was staring at Anakin, and the look in her eyes was hard. Bitter.

Padmé stole a quick glance at Anakin, and was surprised to see that his face, too, was suddenly set in an implacable expression. His jaw was tense. He and Dellia did notgreet one another.

"Excuse me, My Lady," Dellia said quickly, after a long, uncomfortable moment. "There is work to be done." She hurried out of the stateroom, squeezing by Padmé to get to the door as though to avoid Anakin completely.

Sabé glanced at her mistress with a silent question, but Padmé only shook her head in confusion.

"I know you'd love for me to stay," Sabé said sweetly, "but I really must run, too." She poked Anakin as she walked by him, and he grinned. The moment of tension had passed with Dellia's departure.

"What was that about? Why does Dellia look at you that way?" Padmé asked when she and Anakin were alone. The door had hardly slid shut behind Sabé before he picked her up in his arms in that way he had of claiming all of Padmé's attention for himself, and resolutely headed toward the sleeping cabin.

"Maybe she can't bear to see us together, and happy," Anakin suggested.

"Poor Dellia," Padmé murmured with genuine compassion, and hugged Anakin's neck hard. "If anything happens to you, I could so easily end up in the same position. All alone."

"Never," Anakin vowed. "I won't let that happen."

"I wish…" Padmé murmured. Her head felt heavy suddenly, and she rested it on his shoulder. It felt so good to let him take care of her, just for now. To believe that everything would turn out all right. They always had been good at pretending, after all. "I brought the blastboat," she whispered.

"I know. I saw."

"Say the word, and we'll go. I promise." She had hesitated to run away with him once before – before everything happened – before Anakin's life effectively had become forfeit. She didn't intend to make that mistake again. To Padmé the small, hardy vessel represented the possibility of choosing freedom over duty. She would not be parted from it, and always kept it ready. This time, it would be Anakin's choice, no matter what.

Anakin stopped walking and stood still under the soft glowlamps of the stateroom's sleeping cabin, cradling her gently in his arms.

"We'll do whatever we have to do," he said at last.

"Yes," she said, sinking more and more deeply into that precious universe that contained only the two of them. "We will."

x

It was bright morning on Coruscant when the Viceroy of Alderaan's shuttle sank down through the last of the heavy traffic and touched down on the exclusive landing platform used only by Senate dignitaries. Bail debarked accompanied by his aide, Aeron, and four additional security people, two of whom were disguised as administrative staff. That was double the security force that he was used to, and he still didn't feel safe.

He couldn't imagine that he ever would.

After the attack and his subsequent conversation with the young, hard-eyed Commander of the Army battle group that had come to their rescue, Bail had become unusually silent, and remained that way all the way back to Coruscant.

He hadn't slept since the attack. He'd lost his appetite. All he could do was think.

He thought about the uncanny stealth and accuracy of the attack against him. There hadn't been the slightest forewarning from his private, widely cast and usually very effective intelligence net. Even his fighter escort hadn't detected anything until the first shot had been fired.

"Guerilla incursions," the Commander, who for some reason did not wear a Republican Army uniform, had explained. They were taking place everywhere, and even the Core no longer was secure. While vast and destructive battles were still raging throughout the Galaxy, more and more Republic Army resources were being diverted to keeping the main traffic corridors open. "We're just maintaining at the moment," the Commander had told him quite frankly. "But security is crumbling."

Bail thought about the confidential reports he received regularly as a Senator, and most particularly as a member of the War Governance Task Force. Then he thought about the differences between those reports and the eyewitness assessment of the Commander of a battle group that had been on non-stop patrol for weeks.

He thought about the information that Padmé Amidala had shared with him at great risk to herself – evidence that the official information given to the Senate about the conduct of the war was being systematically manipulated and distorted. He thought about the small group of good souls whom he had gathered to try to find a way to fight the situation, and then he thought about how, one by one, they all were meeting untimely death or dishonor or both.

It did not escape Bail that, but for the fortuitous encounter with the battle group, his own early death would have played out as a perfectly innocent, perfectly executed tragedy of war.

Bail thought about the vastly weakened Jedi Order and its inability to maintain peace in the splintering Galaxy. Even Jedi Battle Commanders were few and far in between now that the Military Academy graduates were taking over. He'd heard that Kenobi was one of the few who had been given a sizeable command.

_Kenobi, _Bail thought wryly.The man lurked in the back of his mind like a persistent headache. He hadn't heard a word from the Jedi Knight since he finally had departed from Alderaan with Y'lia in tow. But it was inevitable that sooner or later, given the Jedi Council's he would turn up again. He would. It was like waiting for the other shoe to fall.

All those thoughts added up to one persistent, if mind-boggling, conclusion: that on the side of the Republic, at least, this war was not being fought to be won; it was being conducted in a way to ensure that the Galaxy remained in a state of war.

The shuttle landed with its usual deafening roar and Bail's staff scrambled to form a security cordon around him, even for the short walk into the Senate building. He leaned closer to Aeron. "You'd better run ahead and make sure the office security sweep has been finished. Double-check who carried it out; have it re-done if necessary."

"Yes, Sir." Aeron trotted away, obviously having taken Bail's words 'run ahead' literally. Shaking his head fondly, Bail watched the young man's bright figure with its shining head of white hair recede into the shadows of the building.

The Senate building. It loomed over Bail not only physically, but in his heart and gut. Every time he came here lately, he had to take a few deep breaths before entering. What a seething mess the place was – an endless dance of action and inaction; honor and disgrace; information and gossip; truth and lies. And all of them represented choices. Every step was a choice. Every move. Every word. Every decision. And lately, every choice was fraught with danger. If you stopped dancing, you died.

_Or other people die._

It took courage just to step inside those massive doors.

By the time Bail arrived in his Delegation offices everything seemed to be in order. "All is well, My Lord," Aeron said, and Bail felt a weight roll off his chest. At least now he could speak freely in his own domain. Everything was tidy, organized, and familiar. Today's schedule was on his desk. It was easy to imagine that he hadn't been away at all; that the interlude on Alderaan – the one that had marked the dividing line between everything that had gone before in his life, and everything that would take place next, never had happened.

He settled himself behind his desk, set his staff to their tasks, and began to review the day's obligations.

"May the waters of your beautiful planet flow clear and deep forever."

The charming words lifted Bail's spirits and he looked up eagerly to see his visitor. The civilized, elegant greeting, spoken in a low, cultured voice, was balm to his soul.

A tall, slender young woman with chiseled features stood in his doorway, smiling at him. She held an exquisitely wrapped package in both hands.

"May the verdant forests of your homeland bring you everlasting joy and succor," Bail replied warmly, in the formal style of the Chandrilan.

"I'm sorry if I startled you or interrupted you, Bail. But Aeron assured me that it was all right to come in unannounced."

Bail jumped to his feet and hurried toward his visitor, hands outstretched in greeting. "He is right. You are always welcome, and never an interruption, Mon."

Senator Mothma of the Chandrila system smiled, but above the smile her deep gray eyes seemed shadowed with sadness. "I bring a gift from a mutual friend." She handed him the parcel. "He said to tell you that he is enjoying the finest dining that Corellia has to offer."

Bail opened the parcel to find a rare bottle of premium Corellian double-brandy. It was worth a fortune.

"Y'lia," he said with relief. "He is safe."

"None other."

"I'm glad," Bail breathed. It came out like a sigh. Mon nodded silently in acknowledgement. He drew her over to a chair. "Come, sit down. I hope you can spare me a few moments to catch up."

"That's why I'm here." She seated herself, and then looked around enquiringly.

"It's safe to talk," Bail assured her, taking the seat beside her.

"Not really," she said dryly, "but we will anyway, stubborn fools that we are." She leaned back in her chair. "So there I was on Corellia, losing the usual arguments about why the Republic needs the Corellian system to take a stand in this war so we can bring it to an end more quickly, when my dinner was interrupted by a piercing shriek and a smothering hug from our rotund friend. I almost spilled my soup."

Bail's answering smile was fleeting. Now that he was reassured that Y'lia was safe for the moment, other things weighed more heavily on his mind. "Did the Chancellor ask you to meet with the Corellians? I thought it had been agreed to leave the matter alone from now on." In fact, Bail disagreed strongly with the Senate's laissez-faire attitude toward the de facto secession of the Corellian economic and military power at this critical time.

"No." Mon looked at him with that direct, penetrating gaze of hers. It was disconcerting in one so young. "I decided to go all on my own, trying to play the cards of friendship and some modest influence."

"Brave of you."

"Mon shrugged. "I had to try. I lost, of course."

They looked at one another in mutual understanding.

"I was so… relieved to see Y'lia well," Mon said softly. "He told me… he told me what you did for him."

Bail swallowed, remembering Kenobi's relentless pushing. It was Kenobi who had brought his endangered fellow conspirator straight to his door and bullied Bail into hiding him and arranging safe passage for him to Corellia. "It's what I would do for any of us. It's what we need to do for one another."

"Amidala of Naboo is safe, I understand."

"I believe so. I had it on good authority." _Kenobi again._ "But I haven't seen her yet."

Another silence fell between them, during which Bail's thoughts returned bitterly to their two dead colleagues. From the momentarily unguarded look of sadness and longing on her face, he imagined that Senator Mothma's thoughts were much the same.

"Are we all still… together, then?" Mon ventured. Bail felt a tremor go all the way through his body. Until that moment, until that _precise_ moment, he hadn't known whether their intrepid little group still existed. Or whether it ought to.

"Should we be?" he shot back, testing.

"Yes."

Bail leaned back in his chair, feeling weak and shaky. It was best to try not to think about the implications of what they were taking on. Even with the backing of the Jedi…

_The Jedi._ He leaned forward suddenly. Plunking the bottle from Y'lia onto the floor beside his chair, he took both of Mon's hands in his. "We need to find a way to talk. _Really _talk. There are new developments… important ones."

"I have news, too, from our seventh member…" She stopped. "Fifth. I was having dinner with him when Y'lia stumbled into my lap."

"Was that wise?"

"I think so. Even Y'lia doesn't know that he has joined us. They all but ignored one another."

"We can't talk here," Bail scowled. "My office has been swept, but… not here."

Mon compressed her lips. "Then where?"

They stared at one another in frustration. Where on Coruscant could they speak freely? Where were they safe?

Bail drew a breath. "Let me speak with Amidala first. Then we'll find a way."

"We can't wait long, Bail. Palpatine is holding a massive reception for all the Republic's representatives in the Senate in two week's time. It's a command performance for us all – you probably have the invitation waiting for you on your desk. I think…I feel … that we should know where we stand with one another before then."

Bail nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Those receptions were the worst kind of battle zone – no, they were more like a minefield, where you couldn't see your enemy without a map. Palpatine was well known for using them to flush out those who were undecided, or uncertain, or just stupid.

Mon stood up. "I have to go. It's wonderful to see you again. I was afraid… I was afraid something might happen to you."

"Something did." Bail stood up also. "But that's a story for another time."

The Senator from the Chandrila system rested her hand lightly on his arm. "Those are the risks we take. But I believe we must. We _must_, Bail."

"Yes. Yes, I know." He looked down at her graceful fingers, where they rested on his sleeve. "Do you ever get the feeling that we're going backward, Mon? That civilization is being overrun by barbarism? That the old values – nobility, self-sacrifice, community, fraternity – that they're all being swept away more every day?"

He looked up to find her contemplating him with an unfathomable expression in her eyes. "And liberty. Don't forget liberty."

"I knew it," Bail said. "I woke up one day and found that I was an anachronism."

"If you're an anachronism, Bail, then you're the very best kind. The kind I treasure."

"Easy for you to say," he teased. "That makes you one, too."

"Not if I can help it," Mon took back her hand and turned to go. "This war isn't over until it's over."

Bail laughed. "I'm glad you're on my side."

She didn't turn around; she only waved at him over her shoulder as she strode out of his office.

x

Bail followed Mon as far as his anteroom and stopped by Aeron's desk to watch her until she disappeared out of the Delegation office's door.

"Is there any word from Amidala? Is she back on Coruscant yet?" Bail asked his aide, who had watched the Viceroy watch the Chandrilan Senator leave.

"Not yet, My Lord. But I hear that she is expected soon."

"Really, Aeron? How is it that you hear these things before anyone else does? And so quickly? We've been here less than an hour!"

"You pay me to know things, My Lord," the young man grinned.

Quite uncharacteristically, Bail leaned against the wall beside Aeron's desk, propped on his elbow. He was incredibly reluctant to go back to the pile of work on his desk.

"And what other tidbits have you heard, my well-informed friend?" His question sounded frivolous and idle, but they both knew it wasn't. Knowledge – even in the form of gossip and rumor – was the currency of choice in the Senate.

"That Senator Amidala has been joined by her husband, My Lord, and that they are returning to Coruscant together."

Bail's elbow slipped. He flailed helplessly for a moment before he regained his balance.

"Her _what?"_

"Her husband, My Lord," Aeron repeated patiently, politely refraining from remarking on the Viceroy's inelegant recovery.

"When did she get married?" Bail gasped, disbelieving. This piece of news went against everything – _everything _– he thought he knew about Padmé. Whom in this wide Galaxy would she have married? And when? _And more to the point_, his tumbling mind cried out irrationally but stridently, _why?_

"Apparently, more than a year ago. It was kept secret until very recently."

_A year ago? She has been married for a year?_

"How recently?" Bail snapped. This news felt odd. Wrong. It didn't sit right at all.

"It was announced on Naboo, My Lord. Just before she departed for Coruscant."

_On Naboo. Just before her departure." _After her pardon?" he asked quickly.

Aeron closed his eyes briefly in thought. "Yes, My Lord," he said, reopening them. "Soon after."

Bail walked around to the front of Aeron's desk and leaned on it with both hands.

"Whom did she marry?"

"Apparently, someone who is a former Jedi. I'm told he now works for Chancellor Palpatine."

Only the good manners and self-control that come with centuries of good breeding kept Bail from grabbing his hair with both hands and indulging in a screaming fit. "_Padmé Amidala_ is married to a former Jedi who now works for Chancellor Palpatine?" he yelled. "And has been for a year? Is there even such a _thing _as a former Jedi?"

"Yes, Sir. And apparently so, Sir."

Bail pushed off from Aeron's desk and stalked back toward his office. In the doorway, he turned around again.

"Dooku!" he spat. "_Dooku _is a former Jedi! That is _not _a reassuring precedent!"

"N-No, My Lord," Aeron agreed carefully. But the door to the Viceroy's office already had slammed shut.

x

"Anakin? Are you asleep?"

There was no answer. There was only the whisper of steady breaths that warmed her neck behind her ear, the reassuring touch of the warm body that curved around hers snugly from head to toe, and the sheltering hand that had slipped over her hip to rest on her stomach.

Padmé tried to close her eyes again but didn't like what lay in wait for her there. Instead she went back to studying the shapes and forms that the ever-present lights of nighttime Coruscant created out of her furniture and belongings. The empty, impersonal apartment she had left behind more than a month before unexpectedly had turned out to be a terrible trap lying in wait for her. Walking through the door had been like walking into one of those holo-archives where the stored images sprang into life, speaking in perfectly preserved voices, the moment a visitor walked into the room. Only the images that had awaited her in this soulless living space had been memories and feelings, as vivid and alive as if she had never left.

There were so many. There was the image of Anakin telling her earnestly that he had been accused of murder and that she needed to leave Coruscant, and him. There was her memory of staring out into another night, not knowing where Anakin had gone or whether he would ever return to her. And worst of all, everywhere she looked was her little daughter Balé. Running into her arms. Playing with Sabé. Looking mischievous and laughing after some misdeed or other while Anakin managed to look perfectly innocent. Sobbing her heart out because she thought Padmé had sent Anakin away…

_But you were the one I sent away, little one. And I never saw you again._

She suspected that Anakin had felt the press of memories, too. He had been quiet during the entire tedious re-entry and moving-in process. Padmé had allowed her Handmaidens to do all the work of unpacking, restocking, and generally making the space livable. Captain Typho's team had reactivated all of the apartment's security and communications systems. After they had left, Anakin had gone over all of the systems again, making changes and adjustments and looking very self-satisfied while Padmé had lurked close by, not wanting to be alone. As soon as the apartment had been made habitable Padmé had sent everyone else away, and had fled from the memories and the feelings that it had stirred up, straight into Anakin's waiting arms.

But now she couldn't sleep. Even tucked safely inside of Anakin's sleeping embrace she felt alone, and lost, and heavy with the grief she imagined would never fully leave her.

"You're restless," Anakin murmured into her neck.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

"Of course you should."

"It's as though … it's as though she's here, Anakin."

He shifted and pulled her even closer.

"She is."

"Why didn't I feel her the same way on Naboo?"

"Strong feelings. Intense emotions. They cling in the Force. Form it, you might say." He yawned. "So many things happened here, Padmé."

She thought for a while.

"I don't know what I'm doing here, Anakin. Why I wanted so much to come back. What did I think I could accomplish?"

Seemingly more awake now, Anakin propped himself up on his elbow and looked down into her face. "You thought you could make a difference," he said. "Make it better."

Padmé searched out his eyes in the dim bluish light. "I'm beginning to wonder whether my time in this arena of politics has passed. Whether I'm deluding myself into thinking that I can do any good. Whether anyone is strong enough to fight what is happening all around us."

Anakin reached down to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead, but didn't answer.

"How must it be for you?" Padmé wondered. "You've lost so much. Everything you dreamed of doing, of becoming… what do you work toward now? What keeps you going?"

Padmé caught the quick gleam of Anakin's smile in the faint light.

"You do, Padmé. Everything I do is for you."

"One person out of a whole universe. That can't be enough."

"Two."

"Two, then."

"To me it's everything. You are my whole universe now, Padmé. You're all I have left."

In time, Anakin fell asleep again, his breathing becoming soft and even. Padmé remained awake until the looming shapes in the room took on their accustomed appearance in the morning light.


	8. Chapter 7 A Fragile Fraternity

**  
Chapter 7. A Fragile Fraternity**

"What are you doing?"

"I should have thought that would be obvious." Obi-Wan didn't pause in his repetitive and methodical, if illogical, physical labor. Nor did he look up at his uninvited visitor. He just kept working.

V'ar took the fact that he actually had answered her question as an invitation, and sauntered further inside the small loading bay.

"On the surface it is obvious, of course. You're single-handedly and, if I may say so, quite meticulously, loading the cargo that is ranged along _that_ wall…" – she took the trouble to point at it, even though Obi-Wan wasn't looking at her – "… into _that_ ship." She surveyed the scene critically. "You're about halfway done. From the looks of it, most of this stuff is really, really heavy. And yet you're doing it the hard way – muscle power only."

Obi-Wan's only answer was a deep grunt as he carefully positioned a large sealed container in one of the anonymous Corellian light freighter's aft cargo holds.

"But you're right, of course," V'ar continued conversationally, "I did ask the wrong question. I meant to ask, _why_ are you doing that?"

"Because it needs doing!" Obi-Wan snapped as he returned to the pile of containers along the wall, heaved another large one onto his shoulder, and began the trek of several meters back to the ship.

"Let me guess," V'ar suggested. "You don't trust more than three hundred years' worth of loader droid technology to do the job right?"

V'ar thought she heard a little growl when the container was rocked into its place next to the previous one. But when he emerged from the cargo hold again, Obi-Wan's tone was mild. "I have no quarrel with loader droid technology. I just wanted to do it myself this time."

"If you wanted a workout, I'd have been happy to spar with you. You need only ask."

"A workout using weapons doesn't appeal to me right now, thank you." Obi-Wan sidled up to the next container and seemed to take its measure before manhandling it onto his shoulder. He must have miscalculated. The grimace on this face and the popping cords in his neck said it all.

V'ar couldn't stand it any longer. "At least let me help you with that!" she yelped, leaping into position on the other side of the container and taking some of its weight onto or own arm and shoulder. Dungnuts, it was heavy. Together they lugged the container across the bay to the ship, heaved it up inside the ship, and stowed it safely in its assigned compartment. V'ar was nearly as physically strong as Obi-Wan, and her elegantly deployed nekku gave her remarkable balance, but it was still a strange experience to use muscle and sinew alone for the task.

When they re-emerged from the ship V'ar crossed her arms and stared her companion down. To her surprise Obi-Wan's grim expression softened and an unmistakable twinkle started in his eyes. With a simple gesture he called a water flask to him from somewhere on the far side of the loading bay and offered V'ar the first sip. When she refused, he took a long drink, showing obvious pleasure in the water sliding down his throat.

"Now I'm completely baffled," V'ar admitted.

"I have that effect on people." Obi-Wan was grinning now.

"You'll use the Force to get your water, but you won't use it to help lighten your load?"

"If I want to use the Force, I do. I don't want to use it for the loading." He handed V'ar his flask and headed resolutely back to the stacks of containers along the wall. "There's nothing wrong with a little hard work."

"All work has value as long as it is purposeful," V'ar intoned. It was a lesson that could be recited by the tiniest Padawans.

Obi-Wan handed his water flask to V'ar and went back to the wall of containers. Selecting another one, a smaller one this time, he hoisted it onto his shoulder and began his trek back to the ship. "You _could_ help," he noted as he passed V'ar, without glancing at her.

She laughed, clipped the flask to her utility belt, and went over to select a manageable container for herself. "Tell me the purpose of my labors, Master Jedi." Even though the container was a relatively small one, the chore took pretty much all of her effort and awareness.

"Labor first," Obi-Wan countered in a disagreeably Master-ish way, "and then tell me its purpose."

V'ar shot a glance heavenward and remembered Master Windu's amusement at her eagerness to partner with Kenobi. "I'll admit this loading business channels your focus, body and mind. But if that's what you want, why not meditate?"

Obi-Wan paused and wiped his face on his already grimy sleeve. "I suppose I just wanted to something – anything – that was productive rather than destructive for a change." He glanced into the nearest open cargo hold and surveyed the neatly stacked supply containers with visible satisfaction. "It seems I don't have much opportunity for that kind of work any longer."

V'ar stacked her load as neatly as his and then lounged next to him against the shabby freighter. "Is this ship for you?"

"It's for us, actually. Eventually. Partners, remember?" Obi-Wan smiled wryly.

"Oh, I hadn't forgotten. I just somehow expected you to escape in the middle of the night some time so that you don't have to work with me."

"Did you? I'm sorry. I don't mean to leave you with that impression. I wouldn't be that rude."

V'ar's elegantly raised eyebrows wrung a rueful laugh out of Obi-Wan. "Have I been that bad lately?"

"Worse. I don't blame you, of course. I can only imagine what you've been through in recent weeks. But if we're going to work together, we really need to discuss our respective roles in a number of things, beginning with this so-called rebellion of Senator Organa's. I have to admit that I am astonished at the importance the Council places on supporting it."

"You mean the hopes the Council pins to it." Obi-Wan's expression darkened a little as he pushed away from the ship. "You're right. We should talk. The loader droids can finish this."

Together the two Jedi Knights strolled toward the loading bay exit, leaving behind in the Jedi transport tower a shabby Corellian-manufactured stock light freighter of neutral registry. Easily modified, the ship was of a kind in common use throughout the Galaxy. This one was fitted with a few weapons systems that were not typical for a ship of its class. At the moment it was half-loaded with a mixed cargo of food, clothing and other supplies typically needed by refugees. Oh, yes. And weapons. Food, clothing, and weapons.

x

Padmé woke up feeling squashed and stiff, and her cheek hurt. She blinked and tried to pull herself back into consciousness, and gradually came to realize that she had fallen asleep on the large sofa in her spacious sitting room, surrounded by data pads and documents. Her cheek seemed to be pressed into a data pad, which explained her discomfort there. When she tried to shift away from it she quickly understood where the squashed feeling was coming from. She was buried under a good deal of Anakin's length and most of his weight. At the moment it was deadweight because he was sound asleep with his head resting heavily in the hollow between her shoulder and her neck. Both of his arms were wrapped around her middle, and one long leg seemed to be slung over both of hers, pinning them firmly.

"Anakin!" she whispered experimentally.

He only sighed, and burrowed further into the soft fabric of her dress. It astonished her how someone who was so deeply asleep could keep such a strong grip on her.

_Stars, he must weigh twice what I do, and it's all on top of me…_

Padmé moved her legs, trying to free them, but without much luck. In the process she discovered that Anakin hadn't even taken off his boots. She thought back. She'd been sitting there for quite a while after the midday meal, working, when Anakin had returned from some meeting or other and flung himself down on the sofa next to her, carelessly scattering her neat piles of work everywhere. They had talked for a while, but before long he'd begun to nod off, leaning closer and closer to her.

"That's nice of you," she'd teased. "We wait weeks to see each other and now you're always falling asleep."

"Sorry," he'd mumbled, already making a place for himself on her shoulder. "It's just that when I'm away, I can't sleep much. When I'm around you, I can relax…" He'd probably fallen asleep that minute. Somewhere along the way, it seems she had dozed off, too. She looked around. Judging from the glow from outside and the way the light slanted into the windows, it must be early evening already.

Padmé used her one free hand to stroke Anakin's hair. His eyelids fluttered restlessly, as though he was dreaming. She didn't particularly want to disturb him, but she was hot, he was heavy, and she needed to move. With a determined breath, she braced herself and began to wriggle out from under him. She had almost gotten free and was about to slide off the sofa when suddenly, without warning, he gripped both of her wrists so hard that it hurt.

"Anakin!" she yelped.

His eyes flew open and his grip relaxed instantly.

"Oh, Force, Padmé, I'm sorry. I was asleep – I don't remember grabbing you…" He quickly glanced down at her wrists, which she was rubbing one after another. "Stars…"

He took one wrist very gently in his metal hand and began to rub life back into it with the other.

"It's all right. You just … scared me."

He looked into her eyes with nothing but warmth and concern. "It's the last thing I want to do. "I must be… I mean, I'm on alert all the time." He took her other wrist and massaged it equally gently. "I need to work on relaxing."

"I thought that was a Jedi specialty? Being calm and centered?" Padmé asked, and then realized, when Anakin's mouth turned down sourly, that she probably had said the wrong thing. He was very sensitive about the Jedi.

"Well, there you go," he said offhandedly. "I'm not a Jedi any longer."

"You have the reflexes," she retorted, and then took pity on him when he looked acutely miserable. "It's all right. We should get up. It seems we've napped away a good part of the afternoon."

Anakin reluctantly let go of her hand, and stretched a little. "What a treat." He didn't stay away for long. One hand soon strayed back and began to play with her hair. "No one else around. No interruptions."

Upon arriving on Coruscant, Padmé had disrupted all of her staff's domestic and security routines in a determined attempt to ensure a bit of domestic peace and privacy while Anakin was at home with her. She had insisted that security remain outside of her apartment and invisible; that her Handmaidens remain in their own residence until she called for them, and that all visitors were scheduled and announced. The grumbling from her staff never died down, but the result had been a few unprecedented days of quiet closeness, broken only by outside duties that could not be postponed or pushed aside. Padmé had continued to work hard to catch up on what she had missed during her hiatus as Senator, and Anakin – well, Anakin periodically was summoned to meetings which he discussed little. Aside from that, he tended to lounge around the apartment looking deceptively idle, but managing never to be far from Padmé's side. And he slept a lot.

"Don't you get bored watching me work?" Padmé had asked him the day before after he had lain sprawled on the floor near her feet for a long time while she wrestled with agricultural subsidies and military funding allocations.

"Does a plant get bored with soaking up the sun?" he'd asked, and she had laughed, and poked him with her foot, and he'd grabbed it and rolled closer, and she'd… well, she'd taken a little break.

Padmé smiled, remembering, and turned to look at Anakin, whose eyes were already there, waiting for hers to find them.

"I'm almost done catching up," she said, a little hesitantly. "I can't keep hanging back from Senate politics much longer. Merely attending sessions isn't enough. I have to re-establish contact with people. Try to get myself back on a few committees. Make myself useful."

Anakin didn't say anything; he only reached over to rub her creased cheek.

"Do you… do you know how long you will be here before _he"_ ...Padmé hardly could bear to say the Chancellor's name or title out loud ..."gives you a new assignment? Have you heard anything yet?"

"I have to be here for the Chancellor's reception. After that, it's another battle command, I think. Depends what happens between now and then."

"Ugh. The reception." Padmé rolled her eyes. Anakin bent a little closer to her.

"That's nearly two weeks away." He nuzzled her hair. "That's a long time for us to spend together."

"So it is." Padmé bit her lip. "What kind of battle command?"

"The usual. Find the enemy before they find me. Kill them first." His breath tickled her cheek.

The thought made Padmé feel ill. For a lot of reasons. "Anakin, are you going to be all right?" It was an old, familiar question; one Padmé couldn't help asking over and over again. No amount of reassurance seemed to be enough for her.

"I will if you will," he whispered near her ear. "Do your job, but lie low. Don't take any risks for now. Stay in the background."

"What if I asked you to do the same thing?"

Anakin threw himself back against the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. "I'd be dead in a week."

"Exactly. If I did that, Naboo's interests would never see the light of day."

"Combat is different," Anakin insisted to the ceiling.

"It's not. The weapons are different, that's all."

Anakin rolled to the side and looked at her intensely. "It's _not_ the same. You _know_ you are being watched. You have to be careful."

They stared at one another, only to be startled by the strident signal of Padmé's comm. link.

"I'm sorry," Padmé said, and she was. "It must already be the time I said I would be available for calls."

"I know." Anakin pulled away and stood up. "We slept a long time. I'll leave you to it." He sauntered in the direction of the bedroom while Padmé reluctantly answered her insistent comm.

"Finally!" Sabé's voice said dryly. "Are you decent? Because you have an unannounced visitor downstairs who won't go away. He insists on seeing you and says he'll wait as long as necessary. We're holding him here with cups of tea and witty conversation."

"Who is it?" Padmé looked down at her crumpled dress in dismay, and then her hand flew to her disheveled hair.

"The Viceroy of Alderaan."

"Bail." Padmé's breath left her in one gasp. She didn't feel like facing up to Galactic-level conspiracy right at the moment, but she owed him every courtesy, and more. After all, it was she who had dragged Bail into this terrifying, and deadly, scheme. "Is he alone?"

"Officially, yes, but he's got quite a few shadows lurking around. He's as charming as always, but I think he's as edgy as you are."

_With good reason, _Padmé thought in dismay. She thought fast. "Have someone check the roof garden, make sure we'll have complete privacy. Tell him I'll meet him there."

"Good idea. I'll signal when it's safe to go up." Sabé ended the call. Padmé stared at the now-silent piece of metal in her hand, and then glanced toward the bedroom door through which Anakin had disappeared.

_…lie low… don't take any risks …stay in the background…._

She had to get past Anakin to change her clothes and fix her hair. She could only imagine how unhappy he would be about the prospect of this meeting.

Padmé sighed and began to collect her scattered data pads and documents, delaying as long a possible the moment when she would have to explain the absolute necessity of this meeting with Senator Organa to a certain stubborn, powerful, highly vigilant former Jedi who was as uncompromising about her safety as he was devoted to her. It promised to be an interesting conversation, to say the least.

x

"What do you think of Bail Organa?"

Obi-Wan put down his teacup. To his surprise, he had found that he didn't mind describing his recent exploits to young V'ar. It was different than briefing the Council, who were only interested in the big picture. It was different from speaking with, say, one's Padawan, where the student's learning always had to be kept uppermost in one's mind. And it was even different from speaking to his friends in the Temple, since for many reasons, including the individual safety of the Temple's Knights, the details of missions were discussed only with those directly involved. Ultimately, it made for a lot of roundabout conversations.

V'ar needed to be brought up do date on everything that Obi-Wan had set in motion so far with regard to Organa and the so-called rebellion, and she was eager to hear the details. She wanted to know about the thinking behind his actions. She demanded detailed descriptions of people and events.

Actually, it was a relief to talk to V'ar about everything he had been doing. It was a relief to talk to someone, as long as he didn't have to go back further and discuss the events on Naboo…

"In all, I was impressed with him. Organa is not a man to be underestimated. It is as though he is built on bedrock. No matter how angry, or how frightened he might be, his fundamental courtesy remains intact, which means of course that he doesn't lose control over himself that easily. More importantly, he keeps his ability to think clearly under stress. I never once saw his ability to instantly grasp the wider implications of an issue or event waver. And I have to say I pushed him hard. Very hard."

V'ar sat cross-legged on a low chair in a tucked-away corner of one of the smaller Temple refectories, having just happily consumed a meal that was astonishingly large by Obi-Wan's austere standards. Now she was peacefully peeling a beautiful example of a Tellurian frost fruit. To all outward appearances every mote of her attention was focused on the fruit. But Obi-Wan sensed her total presence in the conversation, and appreciated it.

She had finished peeling her fruit and very carefully, sliced off a single perfect piece, which she placed in her mouth. Her golden eyes closed in rapture.

"Ohh… that is so good. You could bribe me with something like that."

Even with her eyes momentarily closed she must have sensed her companion's startled stare. When she opened them again she was laughing. "A joke. It was a _joke_. But I do love these things." She cut off another perfect slice and offered it to him, but Obi-Wan declined. V'ar shrugged and helped herself to the second slice with the same obvious pleasure.

"So you bullied your way onto Alderaan with the hysterical Senator Y'lia in tow. And Organa didn't know that you were a Jedi?"

"No, not then. He found out quickly enough, though, when I delivered the Council's message of support for the actions of his opposition group."

V'ar chewed thoughtfully. "The _'_go ahead and jump into the abyss, Viceroy; the Jedi Order will back you all the way' message?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Yes, that message. To make it worse, it turns out that Organa had not yet heard about the deaths of his two fellow conspirators from the Ph'zom and Ithin sectors. I ended up being the bearer of tragic news while insisting, in effect, that he and the other conspirators continue to take those risks and look as though they liked it."

"And he stood fast?"

"The Viceroy's ancestral home is built into a cliff on a wild Alderaani coastline. Organa stood like one of the rocks below his study window, being torn at by powerful waves, but unbending. At one point he did threaten to have me deported, but considering the burdens I brought him, I thought it was a very controlled response. I ignored his threat, of course."

"Of course." It seemed that V'ar was finally satisfied, and had stopped eating. "What was the tipping point? What made Organa finally bend and accept the task you brought him?"

Every Jedi knew the importance of the tipping point – that moment in a conversation or a fight or even a large-scale battle when the _potential_ of events and actions as reflected in the Force seemed to take on a new direction, a different _impetus_. It was invariably the subtlest of events, but if understood and observed wisely, advantageous use of the new energy provided by such tipping points made all the difference in the successful outcome of any confrontation. Mastery of this type of a moment in time, or more accurately, event in the Force, had determined the difference between success and failure for many a Jedi.

"Well, that was the most interesting part," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, putting aside his by now cold tea once and for all. "Apparently I was the bearer of good news as well as bad. Organa also hadn't heard that Amidala of Naboo had survived her ordeal and had not been put to death. For some reason, when he heard that she was all right, the dynamic changed completely, although of course he tried to hide it. After that it only required a day or two of discussions before he agreed to hide Y'lia and to consider the Jedi Council's proposals."

"You nagged him for another whole day?" V'ar asked dubiously. "And then he agreed? The man really must be made of bedrock."

"I prefer to think that he found my charm and logic persuasive."

V'ar grinned. "If you say so."

Before he could retort, which he suddenly felt inclined to do, Obi-Wan's personal comm. link signaled discretely. He called it to his hand and looked at the innocuous piece of metal for a long moment before activating it and listening briefly. He could feel V'ar's attention on him.

"Time to go to work," he said, standing up. "We'll need clean robes and polished boots and our most impenetrable Senate faces."

V'ar already was on her feet and matching him stride for stride as Obi-Wan walked out of the refectory. "What is it?"

"I haven't yet told you the rest of the story – what happened after I left Organa on Alderaan. He had arranged for me to take Y'lia to Corellia for safekeeping. There I met with the most recent addition to Organa's group." Obi-Wan shook his head. "That's quite a story in itself."

"I look forward to hearing it."

"No time for the details now. Suffice it so say that the Supreme Chancellor has just called this man on the carpet. Something having to do with violations of the Corellian neutrality agreement. The Corellian wants Jedi backup when he goes to see Palpatine."

V'ar frowned. "The only person the Supreme Chancellor would call in case of a dispute about treaty violations would be … the Senator from the Corellia System. Bel Iblis? Obi-Wan, are you telling me that Garm bel Iblis, the man behind Corellia's neutrality in this war, is the last member of Organa's group of conspirators?"

"None other," Obi-Wan conceded grimly.

"What they are doing is unbelievably dangerous. Even with the backing of the Jedi Order…"

Obi-Wan stopped abruptly in the middle of a wide polished corridor, and brought V'ar to a stop in front of him with a gentle tug on her arm.

"We're the only backing they have, V'ar. You and I. The Order is stretched so thin that we are all that can be spared. Do you understand? Five of them, and the two of us. There _is_ no one else."

V'ar just stared at him. Words seemed to fail her.

"Welcome to my world," said Obi-Wan Kenobi.


	9. Chapter 8 Strange Alliances

**Chapter 8. Strange Alliances**

There was something about the women of Naboo, Bail reflected, when he finally had been permitted to enter the lift of the apartment building where Senator Amidala lived. Padmé was, and had been, as along as he had known her, an extraordinary creature – as beautiful as she was intelligent, as refined and charming as she was principled. But even her Handmaidens were so exquisite, so amusing, and so astute, that to spend an hour being held at bay in their company was more delightful than most social occasions of his recent memory.

He was alone in the lift, which Padmé's Captain of Security had programmed to stop _only_ when it reached the roof garden. To get even this far he'd had to sit there with yet another cup of that interesting beverage until his security team had consulted with Padmé's, and general agreement about their joint deployment had been reached.

By the vast cliffs of Aldera, how he wanted to get off this planet! Everywhere, it reeked of corruption.

Except here. The lift finally opened, and Bail stepped out into a surprising space – a gracious, lush green, living garden so high above the hustle and bustle of the city below that it seemed to touch the undersides of the clouds. How extraordinary. How lovely.

But not as lovely as the vision coming toward him with her hands outstretched in greeting. Once again Bail re-lived the helpless flood of relief and gratitude he had experienced when Kenobi had told him that Amidala of Naboo was alive.

"Padmé." He took her proffered hands. "Words cannot express…"

"I know, Bail. I know."

"Zahra …Xezos…"

"I heard. I'm so terribly sorry…"

"And you, Padmé. You. What happened on Naboo?"

His hostess shook her head and closed her eyes briefly, revealing better than any words how painful the memories must be for her. "Palpatine found me out, Bail. He found all of us out. I wish I knew how. I wish I hadn't come to you with my information. I wish…"

"Hush," he soothed her, all the while feeling as helpless as she. "There's no point in berating yourself. We all know the risks, and we all know why they are worth taking." Bail continued to hold her hands warmly in his. "How did you get a pardon? My information was that you were to be put on trial for treason."

"My husband…" Padmé began, and involuntarily Bail released her hands. _Her husband. _She was married. In the midst of the pleasure of seeing her again, he'd momentarily forgotten.

"That is a quite a stunning piece of news in itself," he said as lightly as he could. "What happy man has the honor of having Amidala's hand in marriage?" Not knowing what to do with his own hands, now that they were noticeably empty, he clasped them in front of him.

Padmé smiled almost girlishly for a brief, unguarded moment before her expression became serious again. "You will meet him, Bail."

"I look forward to it," he replied graciously, belying a sinking heart. She had looked so happy for that unwary little moment when she thought about _him_ – whoever he was – that Bail found it almost impossible to bring up the subject of the mysterious husband's connections. But bring it up, he must.

_It's not just his connections that bother you, is it, boy? _his grandmother's voice said slyly in his head. With the skill that comes from long practice he managed to push away the thought.

"Padmé," he began as gently as possible, "I have heard that your husband has connections to Chancellor Palpatine. That he works for him directly. Is this true?"

Any lingering softness in Padmé's expression quickly disappeared. It was replaced by cheerlessness, and something more. Something that seemed pained.

"Yes. It's true."

Bail looked down. He simply couldn't hold her gaze right now. How could he ask her what he needed to? How could he ask her whether she trusted her… _husband? _Whether she was certain that somehow, by some means, he hadn't been the instrument of their discovery? Whether her private decisions, her private life, weren't directly or indirectly endangering them all? How could he find the words?

"I trust him, Bail. He is the one who saved my life on Naboo."

Bail still couldn't look up, this time because he didn't know whether he would be able to look at her steadily. She always seemed to know what he was thinking. She made it so easy. She made everything so easy. Her perceptiveness. Her sensitivity. Her consideration for others.

_Until now… _the old woman's voice pointed out. _Try not to let her twist your wits into a knot, too._

"There is so much at stake, Padmé," Bail finally managed. "It's not just me, it's the others. I feel responsible for the others…"

"I know." She put her hand on his arm. "Look, Bail, I'll withdraw from our group voluntarily. Keep me out of everything. Don't confide in me. Just carry on without me."

_Just carry on without me. _Yes, it seemed that he would have to do just that. In so many ways.

"There are so few of us remaining," he said sadly. "I don't know what we will be able to accomplish."

"There is growing resentment everywhere, Bail. Resentment and dissatisfaction. You may be able to attract others to your cause, and soon."

"It's _your_ cause, too," Bail said sharply. "I know it is. It doesn't seem right for you to hang back. You're a fighter, Padmé."

"Perhaps. But I have others to consider too. Things are… different."

For the very first time, Bail considered that Padmé, too, might be protecting someone. The husband. It was an unsettling thought. Who could he be, this husband of hers? He racked his brains, trying to think of all the Jedi he ever had encountered.

"So, when do I get to meet the fortunate man who stole you away?"

"Now," said a new voice behind him. Bail flinched, and he saw Padmé's eyes go wide in surprise before he turned around only to come face to face with…

… the young Commander of the Galactic Army Battle Group who had saved his life on the way to Coruscant. The one with the hard eyes and the merciless tactics. For a moment, a very long moment, the two men merely stared at one another. It was the Commander (the _husband_? Was _this_ the husband?) who finally broke the silence. By giving orders.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid you were followed here, Prince Organa. Your presence is compromising your safety, and Padmé's. You have to leave. Now."

_'Your safety, and Padmé's.' He speaks of her so familiarly. He must be…_

Padmé recovered quickly. "Bail Organa, I would like you to met Anakin Skywalker," she said politely. "My husband."

The young man bowed with just the right amount of deference, and Bail returned the greeting, but it was clear that the interloper was not willing to waste much time on pleasantries.

Bail tried hard not to scowl at him, and said only, "My security team assured me that there was no danger."

"They weren't looking in the right places." A glance passed between Skywalker and Padmé that Bail couldn't quite interpret, but it was enough to make him feel like a thorough outsider.

"How do you know?" Padmé asked her …_husband _…over Bail's shoulder.

"I went down to have a look for myself. I don't like leaving things to chance."

"What happened?" Padmé asked, a little breathlessly. Bail began to feel invisible.

"It has been taken care of for now," Skywalker reassured her. "But to be safe, the Viceroy should go."

Bail experienced an involuntary flash of memory in which six spaceships exploded in fiery succession and wondered, with a chill, just how the problem had been taken care of. If there _was _actually a problem. Suddenly he wasn't inclined to dispute the wisdom of Padmé's withdrawal from their small band of conspirators. This young man's presence in Padmé's life – whoever he was, whatever his hold over her – was not reassuring in the least.

"I will do as you say," Bail said, bowing graciously to Padmé, but taking his time over it. He wasn't about to be pushed. "We will leave things as we have agreed. For now." He regarded her affectionately. "It is a great joy to see you safe and well."

"And you, Bail," Padmé replied with gratifying warmth. Behind Bail's shoulder, Skywalker remained silent. Bail slowly turned around and again bowed to him in farewell. The bow was returned, and Skywalker courteously called the lift for him, but nothing more was said.

Bail stepped inside the lift and held up his hand to Padmé one more time before the doors closed. On his way down, the old woman's voice in his head whispered, _you're getting stubborn again, my boy. Very stubborn…_

_x_

"Kenobi. On a break from overseeing the destruction of innocent star systems?"

The large man didn't even get up from his chair on the far side of the spacious room when his visitors were shown in. He just bellowed out his rough greeting and waited for the two Jedi Knights to approach him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi didn't react – not even with the tiniest ripple in the Force – but merely walked toward his host with firm, measured steps. V'ar followed along beside him, slightly awestruck at Kenobi's seamless control. The man in the chair might just as well have struck him, but Kenobi was maintaining perfect harmony.

"Senator Bel Iblis," Obi-Wan said smoothly upon arriving in front of the large, distinguished-looking Correllian with a high forehead, a short, shapely beard and a thick wave of dark hair that was beginning to streak with silver. He offered a perfectly correct bow, no more, no less. "I would like to introduce V'ar Taanil, Jedi Knight."

The man in the chair stared up at his guests, one after the other, taking his time about studying them. V'ar took heart from Kenobi's perfect handling of the situation and allowed the Senator's scrutiny to flow over her like water. In fact, she smiled at him as she took it in her turn to bow in formal greeting.

Her smile must have caught his attention. V'ar noticed a distinct change in their host's expression. It was just a flicker, but suddenly Bel Iblis stood and offered his guests a correct greeting in return. The atmosphere in the room smoothed out noticeably.

"The two of you are to accompany me, then?" Bel Iblis asked without preamble. "The feted Jedi General and … this young one? The smiling Jedi?"

"We are the escort you requested." Obi-Wan was serene, although V'ar thought she caught the equivalent in the Force of a raised eyebrow, aimed in her direction. "But I'm not quite sure why you feel you need one. You're not exactly known for being intimidated in your dealings with the Senate and the Supreme Chancellor."

Bel Iblis snorted and waved his hand toward a pair of chairs, indicating that his guests should sit down while stood up and began to pace the room.

"I'm not intimated, Kenobi. I stand by my actions on behalf of Corellia, past and present. "What I need from you is an impartial witness to the conversation I'm about to have with Palpatine. What could be better for my purpose than a Jedi?"

"Two Jedi," Obi-Wan suggested calmly. V'ar shot him an amused glance.

"Just so." Bel Iblis paused in his circumnavigation of the room to look out the window over the jumbled panorama of the city. "I'm not approaching this meeting with Palpatine as a conversation, Kenobi. I'm not a fool, and I know what awaits me. In this so-called meeting I shall be placed on trial. Of course the trial, and possibly the sentencing, will be all wrapped up in diplomatic language and meaningless promises and compliments."

Obi-Wan settled back in his chair slightly. "You are speaking openly."

"It is safe to speak here in my residence," Bel Iblis said shortly, still staring out the window.

"Of what crime are you being accused? Your choice of personal and social connections?" Despite Bel Iblis' reassurances about the security of the room, Obi-Wan clearly was being careful not to mention specifics of the small opposition coalition out loud.

"Indirectly. That is always a threat. But it seems that our Supreme Chancellor has obtained information about certain independent activities that have been taking place in the Corellian sector, in and around the Outlier systems."

"What kind of activities?"

"Something the Jedi might appreciate, if they weren't so busy waging war." Bel Iblis turned around to glare at Obi-Wan, who returned his gaze in kind. The Senator held their mutual stare for a few moments, and then turned back to the window. "We have been providing shelter to refugees since the beginning of the war."

"Refugees?" Obi-Wan sounded genuinely puzzled. "There are refugee camps throughout the Republic. Why are yours hidden?"

"Because of the refugees' origins."

"And where is that?"

"They come from everywhere, actually. Everywhere in the Galaxy."

"From everywhere in the Galaxy," Obi-Wan repeated carefully. "From the Republic, and from the Confederacy of Independent States?"

"Yes."

"And they bring with them…"

"Gratitude, for one thing." Bel Iblis said gruffly. "And a certain idealistic mind-set. A common belief system, if you will. A belief in unity. A hatred for the war, of course."

"And through your generosity they find shelter in one of the most prosperous sectors of the Galaxy. Financial support, surely. Jobs. They must make for a very loyal labor force. I wonder… would these people from everywhere in the Galaxy be willing to fight for their belief system, as you put it?"

Bel Iblis scowled.

"You're building a power base, Bel Iblis! In the middle of a war between two antagonists, you are effectively building a third front…."

"Get off your pulpit, Kenobi! I'm providing shelter to those who would not otherwise find it. Opening a path for those who would be persecuted elsewhere in the Galaxy. If they in their turn show loyalty, and gratitude, and the willingness to support the cause of peace, then so be it."

Obi-Wan kept a thoughtful silence for a long time. V'ar attentively observed her partner, whose presence in the Force seemed to be alight with suppressed energy. Curious, she turned the same level of attentive discernment to the Corellian Senator, who still stood by the window with his hand clasped behind his back. His energies, too, pulsed with expectation. Bel Iblis wasn't looking outside any longer. He was gazing at Kenobi.

If ever there had been at tipping point, this was it. V'ar felt nearly dizzy in the vortex of energies that began to circle the room.

"How accurate is the Supreme Chancellor's information?" Obi-Wan asked finally.

"That depends on exactly what he knows – or thinks he knows. But it could be quite accurate." He began to pace up and down in front of the wide window again. "I would _very_ much like to know how he came upon this information."

"Can the truth about these… activities… be demonstrated or proven?"

"Only by direct investigation," Bel Iblis growled. "And that means Republic investigators entering the Corellian neutral territories. I assume he is going to press me for permission."

"But you will decline."

"Of course I will. And then the pressure will begin – direct and indirect."

Obi-Wan thought for a few moments. "What help do you think we can give you, V'ar and I?"

To V'ar's perception, Bel Iblis' energies surged. Evidently he hadn't been certain until this moment that Obi-Wan would support him. His outward manner, on the other hand, remained as gruff and demanding as ever.

"You can witness the conversation, so that the outcome does not become somehow twisted later, my word against his. You can testify to the agreements made and the actions that are agreed to, or not agreed to, as the case may be. Your presence as Jedi peacekeepers will place these dealings at the proper level of diplomatic priority. He'll have to deal with me openly, at least for now."

"I'm flattered," Obi-Wan said dryly, "to have been removed in your eyes, if only temporarily, from the category of Republican killer-General, and placed back into the role of peacekeeper."

"Don't be," Bel Iblis said without a trace of humor. "This is as good a time as any to see just what has become of the Jedi Order. Who are you, and what do you stand for?" He stepped forward, close to the seated Obi-Wan. "What do you believe in, ultimately, you who fight on behalf of the corruption that is the Republic?"

V'ar looked quickly from one to the other. Obi-Wan abruptly stood up from his chair, causing Bel Iblis to take an involuntary step back. Although the Jedi Knight was shorter than Bel Iblis by nearly a head, the two men did seem to be standing eye to eye.

"I believe in peace, "Obi-Wan said. "I believe in freedom. I believe in them so much that I will stand by a man like you until the bitter end, because despite your arrogance and wrong-headedness and deplorable manners, you use your position and power to fight for them, too. That cannot be said of many."

"Well," Bel Iblis said after a fraught pause. "We'll see what kind of position I have left after this evening's encounter with our esteemed Supreme Chancellor."

"Irony, Senator?" Obi-Wan deadpanned. "How unexpected, coming from you."

Bel Iblis just growled.

_x_

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Padmé smiled.

"If you say so." The surface tension Anakin had worn like a cloak throughout Bail's visit still remained settled around his shoulders. He was pacing a slow circle around Padmé, who stood patiently in the center of the roof garden that Bail Organa had just left. Occasionally, and seemingly randomly, he picked leaves off of plants as he passed by them, and crumbled them between his fingers.

"And it was necessary. I had to see him."

"Yes." Anakin stopped in front of a thick, glossy, twining eliril vine that had been imported from Naboo especially for Padmé and her Handmaidens. "I know." The plant seemed to have some meaning for him, because his face brightened briefly as he resumed his restless tramp.

Padmé turned slowly in the center of the circle he was pacing, watching every move he made. Every pause. Every expression on his face. "Those are the vines that grow all over the Lake House."

Anakin stopped again and stared at the leaf in his hand. "Yes, I remember," he murmured absently. He looked up and gazed out over the city. The deepening sunset gave his face a warm glow that seemed somehow incongruous against the impressions he left on Padmé's innermost being. To her he seemed brittle, almost fragile.

"You're still worried," she suggested gently. "Even though I withdrew from the group. You heard me tell Bail, Anakin. It's over."

The eliril leaf, too, suffered the same fate as the others and fluttered to the ground in pieces.

"I wonder whether that will be enough. I wonder whether we're ever truly released from our past actions. Is anything ever really over?"

Fighting a wave of sadness and loss, Padmé hurried to Anakin and encircled his waist. "I don't know. But I hope so."

Anakin in turn pulled her close, so close that she could feel his heart beating; feel his chest rising and falling. But beyond that physical awareness, something else skirted around the edges of her mind. It was faint, but insistent. It felt like…. well, like something was little bit dissonant, a little bit off kilter.

"What is it, Anakin? What's wrong?"

"Can you feel it, too?" he whispered.

"Feel what?"

"Come on, Padmé. The Force is strong with you. You must sense it."

"Like…like something isn't right?"

"Yes." Abruptly Anakin released her, all but one hand, and said earnestly, "Try now. Relax your mind and focus."

As always when Anakin linked his abilities to perceive the Force with hers, Padmé felt her inner calm increase, and the often faint, jumbled images in her mind clarified. This time it wasn't a picture so much as an intensification of her earlier feeling of unease that dominated her perception.

"It's like… it's like a wave that it gathering. Something with potential, but it hasn't yet crashed."

"Yes," Anakin agreed, sounding almost relieved that she perceived it, too. "Exactly."

"What do you think it is?"

"It's hard to say. But it's the kind of feeling that always means, 'stay alert, something's coming.' You should make a habit of paying attention whenever you get that feeling. It's an early warning."

"A warning of what?"

"We don't know yet." Anakin pulled her closer again by their tightly clasped hands, pulling her around in a kind of dance until his arm lay over her shoulders. "But if we're alerted that things are changing, we're more likely to know what to do at the time."

"Aren't we always on alert anyway? Honestly, Anakin this isn't very helpful." Still holding Anakin's hand, Padmé began to pull him toward the lift. "I know what _would_ be helpful. It's almost evening. Let's relax, for once. Neither one of us has any more obligations today. Let's just…"

Anakin's personal comm. sounded.

They stopped and stared at one another for a few long moments before he finally answered it. The message was brief, and Anakin's response even briefer, but Padmé knew from the look on his face that the evening's plans had changed. She squeezed his hand even more tightly.

"I've been called to a meeting," Anakin said warily. "I should leave now if I'm going to be on time."

"A meeting with _him_?" They both knew whom she meant. "Isn't this awfully short notice?"

Anakin took a deep breath. "It's about the information I uncovered about the neutral territories. You know, I told you about it… since I'm the one who turned it up, I have to be there."

Suddenly Padmé's sense of unease didn't seem vague at all. It seemed clear and specific, almost like a voice speaking to her. _Beware._

"I'll wait up for you."

"I don't know how long I'll be."

"I'll wait."

They were silent all the way down in the lift, standing close together, hands clasped.Just before they parted, Anakin kissed her on the forehead. "See, Padmé? The Force really is strong with you. Trust your feelings."

"What if I don't like them?"

Anakin gave her a wan smile, and disappeared down the hallway.


	10. Chapter 9 Forsaken

**Chapter 9. Forsaken**

**  
**

Anakin knew it in his heart long before he arrived at Chancellor Palpatine's Senate office.

Looking back, he no longer remembered the precise point between Padmé's apartment and the Senate complex when the certainty began to crush him. The short speeder taxi ride had passed in a blur, a dangerous enough occurrence when it was crucial to always remain alert. By the time he entered the enormous, squat Senate building the sense of Jedi presence was palpable – Jedi visited the Senate building all the time. But by that point in his journey Anakin not only was aware of the presence of one particular Jedi; he knew with absolute certainty that their paths were about to cross again and that there was nothing he could do to escape, however much as he longed to turn and run.

It never occurred to him to wonder whether Obi-Wan Kenobi felt the same.

Anakin didn't even try to control the hard, uneven pounding of his heart as he navigated through the familiar complex of corridors that led to the Supreme Chancellor's office. All his willpower was taken up with forcing himself to keep moving forward. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this reluctant to face something – anything. No threat, no enemy, no deadly situation had ever made his feet drag like this. His natural impulse was invariably to leap straight in, whatever he faced, and to rely on his abilities to help him through.

Not this time.

His training alone should have ensured that he approached the situation with composure.

Instead, he was shaking.

To his relief the Supreme Chancellor's anteroom was empty of waiting visitors. It was a fleeting respite because an assistant had been assigned to wait for his arrival and conduct him directly into the Supreme Chancellor's office.

Despite the mounting dread in his gut, Anakin did have the presence of mind to wonder why he had been called to this meeting so late that he would be forced to make his entrance when the others were already there. A hot spike of irritation cut through the other feelings – the ones that he didn't want to name. It had the welcome effect of steadying his nerves and clearing his thinking. Desperate, Anakin held onto thatantagonism and used it like a shield, so that when he finally was admitted to the Supreme Chancellor's office, the shaking had stopped and his stride was grounded.

Palpatine sat behind his enormous desk. Three visitors sat opposite him, with their backs to Anakin. He didn't recognize the tall human on the left. In the middle seat sat Kenobi, whose presence seared into Anakin's whole being. On the right sat a pale blue Twi'lek, also a Jedi. It only took a moment to identify the familiar force signature… V'ar. V'ar? They had been Padawans together in the Temple…

Palpatine was engaged in an intense conversation with the unknown human when Anakin approached the group, and did not immediately acknowledge Anakin's presence. Without a further invitation, Anakin suddenly didn't know where to go. There weren't any other chairs. He paused awkwardly a few paces behind Obi-Wan, his throat so tight that he was afraid he couldn't speak if he had to.

Obi-Wan knew he was there, that much was certain. But he didn't turn around. Instead V'ar glanced back over her shoulder and to his complete surprise, flashed Anakin a quick smile of acknowledgement. The lump in his throat started to ache fiercely.

"Ah, Anakin!" the Supreme Chancellor said at last. "Do join us."

Obi-Wan didn't move. Anakin hesitated to move because he didn't know where to go.

Palpatine beckoned. "Come over here by me." It wasn't an invitation that could be refused, and Anakin crossed the great divide to take his place standing near the Chancellor on the far side of the desk. When there was no alternative remaining he turned to face the Chancellor's visitors, automatically seeking out the eyes of only one.

Obi-Wan didn't look at him. His eyes were storm-dark, a sure sign of emotion, but they remained fixed on the face of the Supreme Chancellor.

"Senator Bel Iblis, this is Anakin Skywalker, my special assistant," the Supreme Chancellor interjected smoothly. "Anakin, I think you know everyone else."

Obi-Wan still didn't look at him. Anakin suddenly was certain that Palpatine not only was aware of Obi-Wan's behavior , but that he had been watching and waiting for the Jedi Knight's reaction to Anakin's entrance. The reason for his late arrival was clear now – he was being used. Again. For some game or other.

This time, Anakin didn't care about that. He wanted only one thing, and it wasn't something Palpatine could give him. All of his attention was on Obi-Wan.

_Look at me._

Bel Iblis had no trouble looking at Anakin. He'd been staring at him since his arrival by Palpatine's side. "If you don't mind my asking, Supreme Chancellor, what is this man's business at our meeting? Why have you invited him here?"

"Senator," the Supreme Chancellor countered smoothly. "Anakin is my personal assistant for…ah… special missions."

Anakin tore his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to acknowledge the Senator, who would not be deterred from his enquiries.

"What kind of special missions?"

"Anything that needs doing, actually. Anakin has many talents."

Anakin's eyes returned to Obi-Wan's face. His former Master seemed to be gazing over the Supreme Chancellor's shoulder out the window.

_Look at me! I'm right here!_

"It was Anakin, you see, whose careful research brought to light the disturbing developments under discussion," the Supreme Chancellor continued.

With distinct displeasure, Anakin thought that he detected a small ripple in Obi-Wan's guarded demeanor at the words 'careful research.' He longed to take a flying whack at Obi-Wan's seamless shielding in the Force in hopes of provoking a response from him, but he refrained. There were too many other Force users in the room. He had to content himself with staring, hoping for at least a portion of Obi-Wan's attention.

So far it wasn't working.

"What exactly is it that you think you found?" Bel Iblis snapped at Anakin. "Of what are you accusing us? Ours is a vast and highly developed star system. We are economically and culturally diverse and very active. Our chosen stance in the war is that of neutrality. We pose a threat to no one."

All eyes turned to Anakin, except Obi-Wan's. The scene outside the window must have been fascinating.

Reluctantly, Anakin forced himself to focus on the discussion. "It wasn't the activity that caught my attention, Senator. It was the comprehensive efforts that had been made to hide it."

"How is that a crime?" Bel Iblis bellowed. "Corellia stands at the heart of the Galaxy, surrounded by Star Systems that are hell-bent on destroying one another. Why wouldn't we go out of our way to shield ourselves and keep as low a profile as possible?" He turned back to the Supreme Chancellor. "This is absurd. I really don't see that there is anything here for us to discuss."

"I disagree strongly, Senator." Palpatine's voice took on a noticeably different edge. "I see several points of grave concern to the interests of the Republic. For instance, what reassurances can you give me that Corellia is not secretly assisting our enemies under the façade of neutrality?"

Bel Iblis leapt to his feet. Placing both hands on the gleaming surface of the vast desk that separated him from the Supreme Chancellor, he leaned as far forward toward Palpatine as the barrier allowed and snarled, "You have my word, and the legal agreements under which the Corellia system withdrew from participation in this war. You know the terms of those agreements well, Your Excellency. You signed them, as did I. And you have the assurances of the Jedi, who by the terms of these agreements have free access to the neutral territories and whose role, as you well know, is to assure that the terms of the neutrality agreements are met by both sides."

Anakin glanced back at Obi-Wan, whose full attention once again rested on the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. He didn't have to look at V'ar, whose level of shielding was much lower, to know that she too was in a state of full readiness.

The atmosphere in the room began to crackle like an active power coupling.

"Sit down, Senator, and take your hands off my desk." Palpatine hadn't moved at all, but his icy tone had the same effect as if he had struck Bel Iblis. The Corellian sat down. But to his credit, he didn't back down.

"Surely you trust the word of the Jedi, Your Excellency. They have shouldered your cause. They shed their blood for you daily in this war of yours."

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands. Anakin would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking at that moment.

"_My_ war, Bel Iblis?" Palpatine countered coldly. "_My_ cause? It seems to me that your grasp of the realities of the situation in the Galaxy that we _both_ inhabit is as poor as your judgment. The Republic is fighting for the continued freedom and prosperity of its citizens. And when we win this war …and I assure you, Senator, we _will_ win it …I imagine that the Star System of Corellia will expect to return happily to the fold, reaping all the benefits of the Republic's assets and freedom without having sacrificed anything on its behalf!"

"That is completely unfair…"

Palpatine cut Bel Iblis off. "General Kenobi! Did the Jedi Council have prior knowledge of these hidden refugee bases?"

"These are refugee _camps_ we are talking about," Bel Iblis roared. "By referring to them as _bases_ you are deliberately twisting…"

Palpatine held up a hand, and Bel Iblis' mouth snapped shut.

"Well, General Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan raised his head and looked at Palpatine levelly. "The Jedi Council has found no evidence of subversive activity on the part of the Corellia system. Your concerns, while understandable, are unfounded."

A cold current in the Force shot around the room with Palpatine at its center. Anakin never had seen the supreme Chancellor make such an overt Force-related gesture in the presence of Jedi, and he was as surprised as V'ar, whose eyes widened. Obi-Wan was watching the Supreme Chancellor attentively. Only Bel Iblis seemed to be entirely unaware of the undercurrent in the room.

The Chancellor's occult gesture had been directly aimed at the Jedi. It seemed shot through with contempt. _You are nothing_, it seemed to say. _You can do nothing against me_. His next words, addressed exclusively to Obi-Wan, reinforced that impression.

"Really, General. I would not have expected you to be so obtuse. It is the possibility of subversive activity on the part of the _Jedi_ that truly concerns me."

It was at this moment …this moment and no other… that Anakin finally got what he had wanted. Slowly, deliberately, Obi-Wan's eyes drifted away from the Supreme Chancellor's face until his eyes locked with Anakin's, so fully and so completely that Anakin's entire awareness seemed to fill with storm-gray. Anakin felt impaled by that look; he couldn't have turned away if he had wanted to. But he didn't want to. Desperately he searched for some sign of recognition, of acknowledgement, of a connection; but to his mounting fury Obi-Wan's eyes remained completely unreadable. Intense though the look Obi-Wan gave him was – Anakin could feel it down into his bones – it allowed him to see nothing of the feelings behind it.

If there were any.

_It's still me_, Anakin thought frantically. _Despite everything, I'm still here. Can't you see that?_

Obi-Wan's all seeing, unseeing eyes revealed nothing. It wasn't what lay behind them, since they were impenetrable; it was the vast distance reflected in them that began to rip Anakin's uncertain heart to shreds.

"The Senator is right," Obi-Wan said, still looking at Anakin. "We fight and bleed and die for the Republic every day, perilously reducing our numbers and being torn away from our higher mission – to keep the peace. If anyone should feel betrayed, it is the Jedi Order."

Anakin gasped. _I was the one who was betrayed! You betrayed me!_

His hand automatically flew to the side of his tunic that hid the handle of a newly crafted lightsaber, but then froze when a stray impression reached him through the Force. It was a jarring sense of amusement, of pleasure, and it came from Palpatine. Anakin dropped his hand again as though his tunic were on fire.

Obi-Wan didn't react openly, but he abruptly released Anakin from that mesmerizing, unrevealing gaze by shifting it back to the Supreme Chancellor. "Your Excellency, the Jedi Order exemplifies nothing so much as dedication to a higher purpose and devotion to duty. Our higher purpose is the same one that you have just articulated: peace and prosperity for the whole Galaxy. It cannot be said of us that we have not carried out our duties faithfully, and at great cost. In that light, your concern about corruption in the Jedi Order is irrational. In fact, it is impossible."

"Naïve idealism," Palpatine sighed. "So in character for the Jedi." Pointedly eschewing any further discussion of the subject, he addressed himself to Bel Iblis again.

"If the activity that Anakin has described is indeed innocent, then you will have no objections to an impartial inspection of the hidden bases."

"I certainly do object!" Bel Iblis scowled. "No provision for such an inspection exists in the terms of the neutrality treaty."

"As a courtesy," Palpatine insisted, "as a gesture of goodwill, you will allow the inspection."

"No, Your Excellency, I will not. The Correllian System will not."

"I am very disappointed to hear that, Senator." Palpatine settled back in his chair and allowed his gaze to rise upward toward the ceiling, as if he were looking at a point very far away. "I do so wish we had more time to discuss this. I'm certain I could persuade you, since you are a man of goodwill. Sadly, though, I have another appointment that cannot wait." He steepled his fingers in a familiar gesture that Anakin recognized as a warning. Dully, in a remote part of his mind that wasn't fully occupied with hurting, he wondered whether Obi-Wan understood its significance. "The President of the combined Kuat System Trade Guilds has been waiting to see me for some time. He has a proposal for me."

Bel Iblis' face turned stormy. "If this is your way of threatening me, Palpatine…"

Obi-Wan stood up abruptly and softened the insult in Bel Iblis' form of address by cutting short the Senator's threatened rant.

"Your Excellency, we hope for an opportunity to discuss this matter further. I'm certain we can come to a common understanding." With a pair of gestures, a subtle one for V'ar and a less subtle on for Bel Iblis, he indicated that they should stand as well.

Palpatine remained seated. "It seems that a number of fences require mending. Don't you agree, General?"

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin again, revealing nothing. "I see only the one, Your Excellency. We need to arrive at a point of mutual trust and agreement regarding the refugee situation in the Corellia system. Was there something else?"

"No, perhaps not, then." Palpatine sounded faintly amused. Almost satisfied.

Without warning, the single ornament of Palpatine's desk, a bowl of gray stones in a large, flat bowl, flared wildly into such an astounding column of flame that Bel Iblis leaped backward with a cry of astonishment. The two Jedi showed less surprise, but tensed in tandem, observing the display.

Palpatine laughed out loud. "Anakin, I'd like you to remain here for a moment. If the rest of you will excuse us?"

Flushed with fury, Anakin watched Obi-Wan leave. Never once, as he crossed the wide expanse of Palpatine's office and disappeared out the door, did the man who once had been the center of Anakin's universe look back.

"Sit down, my boy," Palpatine said once he and Anakin were the only ones remaining in his office.

"No thank you. I'd rather stand." Anakin had wandered over the window and stood with his arms folded, staring out at the view that Obi-Wan ostensibly had found so absorbing.

"As you prefer." The bowl of firestones was still blazing in front of Palpatine. He contemplated it for a moment, and then ended the display with a single gesture.

"You made the right decision, Anakin, leaving the Jedi and joining me. I have never understood how they could let someone like you go so easily. I fear the Jedi are leaving their glorious past behind. Lately they seem to lack the depth of understanding … the discernment for which they were so justifiably revered."

Anakin heard Palpatine's honeyed words, but they rolled off him. As hurt and angry as Obi-Wan's deliberate and open rejection had left him, and despite having lost control of his emotions to the point that the firestones reacted, the familiar Jedi presence had struck an ancient chord deep inside of Anakin. As long as that chord continued to resonate, he couldn't help seeing and hearing his new Master with a certain detached clarity.

He thought about how carefully fashioned this meeting had been, like all the others Anakin had been part of since beginning his… _indenture_… with the Supreme Chancellor. Like dolls that are painstakingly crafted to nest inside of one another, Palpatine had shaped the events of this encounter to form a single outer image that really contained numerous layers.

_He's going to tell me to investigate the Corellian bases anyway,_ Anakin thought dispassionately. _No matter how he flatters me, I'm merely one of his pawns._

"Anakin, I don't trust our Corellian friends. I can't take the risk that their might be secretly supporting the Separatists. I need you to investigate. Covertly."

"As you wish." Anakin's tone was neutral, and he continued to stare out the window. Night had fallen sometime during the meeting, and the dots of light that marked the busy traffic lanes high above the buildings looked like bands of flying insects. "When would you like me to go?"

Palpatine paused."I want you to be here on Coruscant for my reception. There are some people I want you to meet." He paused. "Very _influential_ people."

Anakin didn't respond.

"I suppose it can wait until then," Palpatine mused. "But I'll need you to leave straight after. You can use the time in between to prepare."

"As you wish," Anakin said again.

Palpatine let a longer pause go by.

_Here it comes,_ Anakin thought.

"You must be very disappointed in your former Jedi Master's lack of concern for your welfare, Anakin. I'm truly sorry for you."

The pain Anakin experienced was akin to having strips of living skin peeled away one by one. "It's nothing," he lied. Finally he turned his back on the scenes of nighttime Coruscant outside the window. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

Palpatine steepled his fingers again. "Not at the moment. You may go."

"Thank you, Your Excellency." Anakin bowed and turned to make his way across the darkening office. He almost had made it to the door when, without surprise, he felt a familiar dark tendril in the Force slide up his spine and encircle his throat. He stopped walking and took a breath to counter the feeling that he couldn't breathe. The tendril withdrew and Anakin continued out the office door. Nothing was said. Nothing had to be said. It was just a reminder. That was all.

He was used to them.

x

"Did you hear that?" Bel Iblis snarled as he and Obi-Wan walked rapidly through the corridors that led away from the Chancellor's office "He's talking to the Kuatis, or he says he is."

"Not here. Wait until we get outside." There were just the two of them in this particular corridor – V'ar had remained behind, saying there was something she needed to do – but Obi-Wan wasn't taking any chances.

Bel Iblis was beside himself and couldn't be contained. Like the Corellia System, the Kuat System was known for its extensive and high quality shipbuilding facilities. So far the Corellians held most of the contracts to build Republic Army vessels. With the war on, the contracts had been huge and very lucrative.

"He's already threatening me, and he can make good on those threats if he wants to. A number of our largest contracts with the Republic are coming to an end…"

"I said, _not here_."

"If that son of a Nubian whore follows through with his threats…"

Obi-Wan made a sudden gesture, and while Bel Iblis kept talking, sound no longer came out of his mouth. At first he only looked surprised, but then his eyes narrowed and he shot the Jedi Knight a murderous look.

"I warned you," Obi-Wan said under his breath. "Besides, you knew this would happen. Now it's just a question of how to deal with it."

The rest of their walk through he Senate building to the speeder platform took place in layers of silence.

x

"Anakin." A figure melted out of the shadows in the broad corridor outside of Palpatine's office.

"V'ar?" Anakin froze. He had been so sunk in his own misery that he hadn't noticed her. How could he let that happen? He tried to pull his wits together. "What are you doing here?"

"I was waiting for you to finish."

Anakin scowled. "Why?"

"I wanted to see you. It's been ages."

"I wouldn't if I were you. I think you can get demerits just for talking to me."

V'ar laughed. "I'd like to see them try. I'm a Knight now."

Anakin studied her, trying and failing to ignore how the news twisted his gut. "It suits you," he said finally, in a burst of generosity that he dredged up from somewhere.

V'ar did a little mock-bow. "Well, being out in the world seems to suit you. You look very grand. And married!" She grinned. "Who would have thought?" Before Anakin could think of an answer she became serious again. "I just wanted to… Anakin, are you all right?"

He froze again, this time inwardly. "What do you mean?"

"I… I don't know. I guess I'm worried about you. I want to know how things are with you."

"Fine. Things are fine," Anakin gritted out. His eyes felt dry and hot.

"You're missed, you know."

"By whom?"

"Well…me, for one. I always thought… you know. That we'd always be together. All of us."

Tears began to well in Anakin's hot dry eyes. He had to get out of there.

"I have to go." He turned to flee.

"Anakin?"

"What?" He didn't look back at her.

"May the Force be with you."

Anakin couldn't answer. He bolted down the corridor and away, unable to stop the hot, harsh tears from running down his face.


	11. Chapter 10 Invisible Light

**Chapter 10. Invisible Light**

_The Force is strong with you._

They were Anakin's words. If she closed her eyes and stilled herselfPadme could hear his voice saying them, as clearly as if he were standing next to her. He said them so often, after all, and in so many different ways.

Sometimes it was a tease. "The Force is strong with you," he would chant in an annoying singsong voice, throwing his head back and laughing with delight at her ability to divine what he was thinking or what was about to happen, however crazy or unexpected. Sometimes he used the words ironically, making fun of her for having no clue of either, or for having missed something perfectly obvious.

Other times he was so earnest when he said them, the way he had been this evening up in the roof garden. His voice had been hoarse and urgent, as if he were willing her to believe in the words… willing her to believe him… willing her to reach inside of herself and find something she wasn't really sure was there.

_Come on, Padmé. The Force is strong with you. You must feel it, too…_

It hadn't been a game or a tease. He had been serious, terribly serious. He really believed the Force was strong with her, and that she should know what he knew and perceive as he did. He seemed to need it from her; it was as though he was throwing out a hand to pull her up a cliff, saying, _"follow! Follow!"_ but she just wasn't sure that she could.

All alone on the spacious balcony of her apartment, with the glittering jewels of nighttime Coruscant spread out below her, Padmé spread her arms out and up like one of the statues that framed her view of the city and tried to imagine that she was filled with the Force. She'd heard so many descriptions and explanations of what that meant. She pushed them all away and tried only to feel it for herself.

The deep violet sleeves of her robe fell back to her elbows. Her hands and forearms floated in the dark blue shadows, gleaming white in the illumination from the city beyond. She watched her arms begin to move and sway with graceful, rhythmic movements of her wrists and fingers that echoed the ancient dances she had learned as a child on Naboo.

Where was the Force? Did it lie along her body like an infinitely delicate garment or another soft skin? Was it inside her veins, surging through them like hot blood? Did it rise and fall with her breathing or her heartbeat, or did it surround her form like an energy shield?

_Feel it,_ her mind whispered. _Feel it. It must be there. Anakin says it is._

She added her shoulders to the dance-like movements, and then her torso. Her hips began to sway naturally as she swung in gentle circles and dips of her inner music. She tried to be aware of every part of her body, and of all the sensations within it. At first it felt heavy and awkward, the increased attention making her self-conscious and clumsy. As she persevered, though, her arms began to feel light, as though they were buoyed by water; her movements became fluid and seemed less random that they had initially. They flowed. She flowed. A warm glow spread throughout her limbs, probably the warmth brought about by the movement. Force or no Force, she was beginning to enjoy herself. Rising onto her toes, stretching high and wide, Padmé swayed and circled and spun herself slowly, languidly around and around, with each revolution of her body sloughing off the burdens of the life she led. Memories and thoughts slipped away from her awareness as surely as worries and pains did, until there was nothing left except the movement and the ever-lighter feeling of her body.

Around and around she went, even forgetting little by little that she was waiting for Anakin to return home, and had been waiting for a long time. Around and around she went, unhurriedly, as though she were floating. Her heart eased and her mind cleared, and there was nothing but the flow of her movements and the lightness in her heart.

_Padmé._

Slowly Padmé circled to a stop and opened her eyes. At first she couldn't see anyone.

_Padmé._

She turned around slowly, searching the dimly lit room.

"Anakin?" she whispered. She didn't know why she was whispering.

She turned and searched, and only when she had come full circle did she see suddenly see Anakin standing at the edge of the balcony. It mystified her. How had he suddenly arrived there? She hadn't seen or heard him come in. He looked strange and a little distant. His outline seemed hazy. She struggled to focus her eyes.

She called to him again, a little more loudly. He didn't answer, and as she moved closer she saw that he wasn't looking at her. He seemed to be struggling somehow. She slipped even closer, and it seemed to her that he was having trouble breathing. His shoulders began to heave, and he flung back his head in a silent gasp.

"Anakin!" Padmé ran the last few steps to reach him, only to find her flight stopped by nothing more than the balcony railing. She looked around in confusion. Anakin wasn't there. She was completely alone. Had she imagined it? He had seemed so real; she had been a hand's breadth away from touching him.

"Anakin?" she whispered one last time, but he wasn't there to answer. She checked her chrono. It was late, and he still hadn't returned from his meeting with Palpatine.

x

Someone once had calculated that if all the corridors in the Senate building were stacked into a tower end to end they would reach beyond Coruscant's atmosphere and into the void of space. That might have been an exaggeration, but to someone who was prowling through them all, the distance seemed about right. They seemed to go on forever.

Anakin knew every section of the Senate's corridors from the months he had spent revamping the Senate's security systems. He had been a Jedi, then, confident and proud.

Later, after he'd left the Temple in anger that last time, Anakin had spent days hiding like a phantom in the Senate's most obscure back rooms and byways. Had he known then that he would never be able to return? Anakin doubted it. Deep down he always had believed himself to be a Jedi. Even when they had labeled him a Rogue.

_I am a Jedi._ That idea – that ideal –had been Anakin's lodestone. It had been an article of faith that had shaped everything about him – the way he thought; his beliefs; his dreams. It had defined him. When that certainty was stripped away back on Naboo – when he had ended his connection with the Order forever – it had felt as though his outer structure, his skin and bones, had been removed, leaving him shapeless and amorphous and undefined. And yet he had carried on as though he still had a form, as though he still defined the space he took up in a meaningful way. He had Padmé. He had the responsibilities of becoming a father. And he still had himself in the form of the memories and experiences that no one could take away from him.

Or so he had thought.

This evening's unexpected encounter with Obi-Wan had changed the foundation of his being. His former Master's refusal to acknowledge him in any way had been like an acid bath, burning away the pillars that held up his existence. The things he had known to be true.

_I was a good Jedi._

_My Master loved me once._

_I might be… I am… the Chosen One. I have a job to do._

And most important of all, the belief that buoyed him through every struggle, every uncertainty, and even the many small provocations and debasements he regularly suffered at Palpatine's hands:

_Some day I will be forgiven for my mistakes._

Obi-Wan's indifference had destroyed all of these fundamental beliefs and hopes; throwing even Anakin's trusted memories into doubt.

_I never was a real Jedi._

_Obi-Wan never loved me._

_I am nothing._

_I never will be forgiven._

With his outer shape still amorphous – he was no longer a Jedi, so what was he? – and his inner structure reduced to ashes, Anakin felt worse than insubstantial; it was hard to imagine that he existed at all.

Instead of returning home, Anakin wandered around and around the building that sat at the epicenter of his Galaxy while the last of what he thought of as his substance disintegrated into nothingness. Once again he was a ghost. A cipher. He was no longer a person, but only the mere _impression_ of a person as he moved from brightly lit spaces to the shadowy service corridors and back again. He circled the building without a destination, unfocused, absorbing few impressions and giving out none. He was so turned in on himself, so caught up in the bonfire of his inner dissolution that he was entirely unaware that from a certain point on, his path had grown straighter and more direct.

How unlike Anakin it was not to have noticed the light, bright glimmer in the Force that appeared out of nowhere and then trailed away, leaving an urgent impression that said, "follow!" How completely closed off from himself he must have been, not to be aware that he had instinctively obeyed its call.

Anakin didn't rouse out of his perception-blocking stupor until he found himself in a wide, luxurious corridor in one of Senate building's upper levels. The curved, subtly lit walls were marked at wide intervals by grand doors, each one the office of a Star System's Senate Delegation. The corridor seemed to go on forever.

The shimmering holographic plaque in front of Anakin's nose said:

SENATE REPRESENTATIVE  
FROM THE ROYAL STAR SYSTEM OF NABOO

He blinked stupidly.

He couldn't remember what had brought him here, but for some reason this is where he had come to a full stop.

_Padmé._

A bright shimmer flickered behind his eyes. Anakin rested his forehead against the massive door as a little warmth; a little substance began to flow back into his body bringing with it a greater attentiveness to his surroundings. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

All at once Anakin's full awareness returned in a rush. His senses snapped into focus.

Late as it was, there was someone inside the suite of offices.

Without hesitation Anakin slipped inside. The spacious anteroom was dark, as was Dellia's office. The only illumination came from Padmé's office at the far end of the suite. The door had been left ajar and the shaft of light from it reached all the way down the short connecting hallway. Anakin slipped along the wall, avoiding the light until he reached the door. Dellia didn't see him watching her every move until Anakin chose to make his presence known.

"You're here late."

The girl startled violently, letting out a wave of fright. "I… I came to look for something that we'll need tomorrow," she finally stammered out. "I… I wanted to get a jump on the day. It's… it's going to be so busy."

"Did you find what you wanted?"

"I…" Dellia looked around the office, and then back at Anakin. "Y…yes."

"Then I'll take you home," Anakin stated flatly. "It's late to be out alone." He didn't need to see the look on Dellia's face to know that she didn't relish a speeder taxi ride back to the apartment in his company any more than he did.

"N…no, I'll be fine," she began to protest.

"Let's go," Anakin ordered.

Dellia rubbed her forehead and pushed her hair out of her eyes as though she was delaying, trying to think of an excuse that would get her out of this. Eventually she seemed to give up, and merely nodded.

Anakin watched and waited silently while the girl tidied Padmé's desk and extinguished the glow lamps. He stepped aside to ensure that she left the offices first and secured the door behind them. They didn't exchange another word all the way up to the landing platform, during the short wait for a speeder taxi, or for a long time once they were inside and hurtling through Coruscant's complex traffic lanes. And yet the continuing silence that lay between them pulsated like an unvoiced shout.

Anakin would not have chosen to break that silence, but just before they reached the apartment complex that housed Padmé and all her staff, Dellia finally broke down.

Her eyes fixed on the scenes that flashed by outside, she finally asked, "Why did you do it?"

It was a non-specific question. Anakin didn't see any need to answer it. He kept quiet.

"Why did you kill Lon?" the girl persisted in a flat, dead voice, still looking away from him.

It was a troublesome conversation at a very bad time, and Anakin resented it. "Who said I did?"

"I had to know what happened," she said in a monotone to the streaks of light outside the speeder's window. "I asked everywhere. It took along time, but I finally learned the truth."

Anakin's outer composure belied the hot rivulets of hostility that began to churn through his gut. The taxi slowed and circled to a perfect landing on the building's public landing platform. Both of its passengers remained motionless in the ensuing silence.

"I defended myself because he was dead set on killing me," Anakin finally gritted out. "What other reason would I have had?"

Dellia's lips were pressed together tightly. The tears that streaked her face glittered in the harsh lights of the landing platform. Without looking at Anakin, and without saying another word, she opened the taxi's door and hurried away into the night.

Wearily Anakin unfolded himself from the taxi's cramped passenger compartment and trudged into the apartment complex. Soon enough he found himself once again standing before a door that led to Padmé's realm.

He stopped.

Feeling inadequate, ignoble, and in virtual tatters, Anakin hesitated to open the door and to enter. He couldn't even think of it as his own door, even though it led to his only home. It was Padmé's door, and he couldn't bring himself to cross its threshold, although he longed to.

_I'm nothing. I have nothing to give her but grief._

But he couldn't leave, either. He might as well have been tied there with invisible bonds. He couldn't forward and he couldn't go back. Exhausted and vacant, Anakin hovered in place until the door opened of its own accord and Padmé appeared in front of him. He slumped against the doorframe. Padmé studied him for a long moment before she reached out with both hands to pull him inside.

x

Any words of worry about how long Anakin had been away or what he had been doing had died on her lips when Padmé found him sagging on her doorstep. She had known he was there as surely as she had seen him – or thought she had seen him – on the balcony earlier. In fact, since that moment on the balcony she had known that something was wrong.

She feared the worst, of course. Everything about their lives was unsafe. A meeting with Palpatine could easily mean disaster. But for Anakin's sake she fought back her worries and silenced her questions, and merely pulled him over to one of the large sofas that overlooked the endless city below. She pushed him down onto it, settled herself next to him, holding both of his hands in hers, and waited for bad news.

Anakin let his head fall back while he stared into the distance. Helplessly Padmé continued to hold his limp hands in hers, trying to calm her pounding heart. To her surprise, though, it wasn't long before the blank look left Anakin's eyes and he began to look all around the room, at the walls and up at the ceiling, as though he were watching something. Something that danced, and moved quickly here and there. Puzzled, Padmé looked around. She couldn't see anything.

"What happened here?" Anakin asked, sounding fascinated.

"Nothing. I was here by myself all evening, waiting for you."

Anakin didn't stop looking around the room. "You must have done something differently. Just look at that!" To Padmé's utter amazement, he even smiled a little, like a child observing something wondrous.

"No, I didn't do anything unusual, I just…_oh_." She began to feel a little awkward.

"What?" Anakin sat up. His hands came to life and clasped hers warmly, and he looked at her with the same life and warmth in his eyes. For those reasons, and those reasons only, Padmé confessed to her earlier experiment with the Force. Hesitantly, trying to find the right words to describe her feelings and experiences, Padmé told him about her dance.

"You were dancing?" he repeated.

Padmé blushed and nodded.

Still holding her hands tightly, Anakin looked around the room again with a kind of awe on his face.

"No wonder," he breathed. "It's so beautiful."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Anakin."

He grinned. Warmly. Genuinely. The tight bands of worry around her heart eased.

"Walking into this room is like… I don't know how to describe it. Like walking into a pool with a waterfall, where the sun catches the spray and it sparkles everywhere. You've filled this room with light, Padmé." Anakin's eyes were sparkling now, too. "To me it's much, much brighter than all those lights down there." He released one of her hands to wave at the galaxy of artificial lights that smothered the city below. "It's like walking into another world."

Padmé didn't know what to say. She didn't know what was more surprising – Anakin's assertions about the light in the room that she ostensibly had generated but could not see, or the sudden and glorious change in him as a result. Even if she'd found the words she wouldn't have been able to say them, because Anakin pulled her into a crushing hug.

"I knew you could do it! I knew it. I knew it."

"Mmmph" Padmé mumbled from somewhere near his shoulder.

"You're amazing, Padmé," Anakin sang. "You're full of light. You're beautiful. You create beauty. You're a healer. You make everything all right."

Padmé allowed herself to be rocked and hugged for a while longer. It was nice to be thought of as a miracle worker, even though she had very little idea what he was talking about, but honesty made her speak up at last. Gently she extricated herself from the tangle of arms and legs that was Anakin, and pushed her disheveled hair out of her eyes.

"I'm very glad that you're feeling better, but there's more, and it's not as reassuring."

Anakin lay back on the sofa and watched her expectantly. Padmé took a breath, and more boldly than she had talked about her dance, she described in detail the…she didn't know what to call it… the image she'd seen of Anakin on the balcony. The frightening image.

Anakin crossed his arms behind his head, settled back, and the look on his face became serious again. But he was still looking at her. His eyes were alive. He was all there. Padmé took heart.

"It did happen," Anakin said matter-of-factly. "There was a moment when I felt I couldn't breathe. You were open to the Force, you're connected to me, and so you saw me at that moment of suffering."

"Are you all right now?" Padmé asked quickly.

"I'm am now. Thanks to you."

"Why a moment of suffering?" she wondered out loud after a thoughtful silence. "Why not a moment of joy or laughter?"

"Pain is a powerful thing." Anakin shifted to accommodate Padmé as she searched around for the space to curl up against him. "Besides, there weren't any joyful moments."

Silence drifted around the room. Padmé tried to imagine it as filled with light.

"I'd like you to tell me what happened this evening, Anakin. I need to know."

The story did eventually come out. The entire story. For once Anakin didn't summarize and edit in order to spare her. The tale spilled out of him; all of it, from his arrival in Palpatine's office to the look on Dellia's face when she left he taxi. As the story grew grimmer and darker its telling pulled more and more honesty and emotion out of Anakin until he was weeping in her arms, sobbing like a child with his head in her lap. Her own tears flowed hot and silent as she turned over images and events in her mind, past and present.

Her memories flowed back to the events on Naboo and she heard her own voice saying, _"You've abandoned him. And I will never forgive you for this, Obi-Wan. Never."_

Padmé looked down at Anakin and stroked his damp hair. She'd never fully understood what Anakin meant when he talked about the Dark Side. But if there was such a thing, this must be what it was like – a place without forgiveness or understanding. A place where people didn't reach out to one another. She took another long look around the room that had brought Anakin ease. The Dark Side would be a place without light. And yet it seemed that light could heal.

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe forgiveness was what they all needed. If they all didn't just forgive one another, everything would get worse and worse, and Palpatine surely would win.

"Maybe I could talk to Obi-Wan," she suggested gently. "Maybe I could get him to see…"

"It's not just that," Anakin sobbed. "I didn't just want him to see me, Padmé. I wanted him to save me. That's what families do for one another, isn't it? No matter what?"

"Yes," Padmé murmured. "It is."

Anakin gradually quieted. Padmé kept stroking his hair, following her own thoughts. In an odd way, she did feel light. Clear. Strong. Certain things were becoming more and more apparent to her.

She was Anakin's only family now. He had no one else. It was because of her that he was in this position now, and yet she had let him struggle alone for too long. It was time that she stepped up to face her responsibilities, and to do her part on his behalf. _On behalf of all of us._

"Somehow the Force always seems to bring me back to you," Anakin mumbled from somewhere in her lap. "Even when I don't know where I'm going, or why."

Padmé knew then that she couldn't, she wouldn't let him fall.

She would save him herself.


	12. Chapter 11 The Next Breath

**Chapter 11. The Next Breath**

High in a turret of the Jedi Temple a lone figure steadfastly watched the transition from glaring, brightly lit night to pale, soft dawn. When the last city lights had winked out and in due course a faraway glow had appeared between the spear shapes of the buildings below, V'ar finally closed her eyes and began her morning meditation. It was a challenge to sink into the Force rather than into sleep. The night had been long. She was tired. Her thoughts still felt tangled, which meant that the day ahead was going to be twice as hard.

_Breathe,_ V'ar told herself as she struggled to find that inner place of clarity and light. _Just breathe._

For as long as she could remember V'ar had been escaping her minders and coming up here to this turret, this balcony, to look out over the city below. Now that she was a Knight and could do more or less as she pleased, it was still the place she sought out when she needed to think clearly. The child's rationale – _if I'm up high, I can see everything!_ – had molded the adult's habit, even though as an adult she understood that true vision came from inside rather than outside.

She shifted her shoulders, seeking a more comfortable set for them, and took another deep breath. Instead of sinking further into calm, her mind delivered a vivid memory of herself as a young Padawan, in a panic because she couldn't see the way forward.

_What should I do? Master, I don't know what to do!_

_Take your next breath, little one!_

Obediently V'ar had gasped in a big one. _And now, Master?_

_Now take the next one!_ She had sounded gently amused. _As long as we live, there is always another breath._

And so young V'ar had taken that next breath and continued breathing, and sure enough, life had moved on regardless of her uncertainty. Eventually she had engaged with the challenge that had seemed so overwhelming at first. Events always did move forward, whether or not one felt ready. It was best to move along with them.

The sun rose higher, painting the city below with new colors. The tension began to drain out of her neck and shoulders. Because a number of difficult tasks and decisions lay just ahead, and because she knew that events would unfold with her or without her, V'ar took her next breath. And the next. And the next.

x

Dellia yawned. She hadn't slept well anyway, and then Padmé had called her to work early. It was so difficult to get herself moving. Lately her body seemed to be working against her full time. It was even worse to have to leave her fitful sleep and enter fully into the bleak new day.

It hadn't taken her long to realize that taking the job with Padmé might not have been such a good idea after all. It wasn't just that the hours were grueling. It was the loneliness. She hadn't realized just how lonely she would be, isolated on Coruscant with no one but Padmé and her entourage for company. For Dellia, that was no company at all. Although she lived side by side with Padmé and her closest advisors and worked together with them every day, she still felt as distant from them all as the temporary staff who cycled in and out of the Naboo Senate Delegation offices. Like them, she felt like a helper, brought in by a work order. Nothing more.

She met the others by the waiting shuttle on the landing platform of the residence. Padmé was there, surrounded by three Security guards. Sabé and Dormé stood together a little further away, exclusive in one another's company as always. Padmé greeted her with a warm smile as she always did, but her eyes lingered on Dellia's long after they had exchanged "Good mornings." Uncomfortable, Dellia looked away.

Without making it obvious, Dellia scanned the entire landing platform carefully. No, _he_ wasn't there. That was something, at least. She didn't think she could bear another shuttle ride in his presence, trying not to notice how close he sat to Padmé. How their hands were always entwined. How there always seemed to be an invisible shield around them, locking them together, even in the middle of a crowd.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

She reached up to wipe some moisture from the corner of her eye. The breeze, probably. It was always strong this high up.

A security guard murmured into his comm. and the shuttle's doors opened. Climbing inside of the spacious vehicle after the others, Dellia remembered that today was her day to deliver a report. That was something, anyway. She raised her chin and tried to take heart. Perhaps one day justice would be done after all.

x

"Where is he, V'ar?" Mace Windu demanded.

"I haven't seen him since the meeting yesterday. We left separately."

It's nearly midday. He missed an early meeting and this briefing. Bel Iblis is demanding an answer. I want Kenobi found. Go!"

V'ar struggled not to smile at Master Windu's imperious tone. He was much more concerned about Obi-Wan than about Senator Bel Iblis, but masking it by sounding extra fierce. She bowed and left him scowling in the small conference room where he and V'ar had waited for almost a quarter of an hour before it had become obvious that Obi-Wan wasn't going to turn up. A quarter of an hour was Mace's outside limit for waiting, and an unusually generous one at that. Five minutes at best was all the grace that most people got.

Once outside, she stopped briefly in the middle of the corridor to think. It was no surprise to her that Obi Wan's behavior might have changed after yesterday's encounter with Anakin. It had been a terrible, wrenching meeting for them all. Obi-Wan had wrapped himself in so many layers that she was surprised he could still breathe. And if her night had been sleepless, how must his have been?

The initial question was simple. Would he have gone out somewhere to lose himself in work or another distraction, or would he have gone inward to tend his wounds? When she thought about it, the answer seemed simple, too. Resolutely V'ar headed up to the residence levels of the Temple, and her logic was proven correct long before she arrived at Obi-Wan's private quarters.

She wished it hadn't been, though. She wished she hadn't found him so easily. The atmosphere near his quarters was thick and heavy, and it became more so the closer she came to Obi-Wan's door. It was hard to be there. It hurt. It felt almost as though the Force itself was weeping.

She didn't want to intrude. She _really_ didn't want to intrude. But the hard-to ignore image of the irate Jedi Master who had sent her here lurked inside her head, and finally she activated the visitor alert signal that she'd always found to be such an amusing anachronism in the Temple. As if they couldn't always detect one another's presence as easily as breathing! Still, today it somehow seemed appropriate to use the mechanism rather than reaching through that invisible yet palpable grief and pain for Obi-Wan's attention.

There was no answer. V'ar waited a decent interval and then tried again. Again there was no answer. Pressing her lips together, V'ar closed her eyes and reached out tentatively with her mind.

Oof! The breath left her body as though she had been punched. The message was clear. _Keep out._

_I'd love to,_ V'ar thought. _But I can't._ She couldn't go back to face Master Windu empty-handed.

With her body tensed in readiness and her lips compressed, V'ar did something she could never have imagined herself doing. She let herself into Obi-Wan's private quarters, feeling like a villain and a traitor the whole time. The small sitting room was dim, painfully tidy, and empty. This was even worse. Now she would have to invade his sleeping quarters.

_I am a Jedi,_ V'ar reminded herself sternly. _I'm trained to do the impossible._

That training kept her moving forward, but it certainly didn't help her to feel any better about what she was doing: disrespecting the privacy of one of the greatest Knights in the Temple. It was appalling, but here she was.

Obi-Wan's sleeping quarters were dim and tidy as well. He sat quietly on the edge of his modest cot. It hadn't been slept in. He was fully dressed and sat perfectly still, looking down at his hands. They were folded in his lap. He looked as though he might have been sitting there forever.

"Get out," he rasped.

V'ar gathered herself. "I wish I could. I wish I never had come. But Master Windu sent me to find you, and they way he's feeling it'll be my hide as well as yours if I don't bring you back for this briefing."

There was along silence.

"I'm indisposed."

That much was certain. The Force around them was in shreds. "Shall I send you a healer?"

"No. It's personal," Obi-Wan finally said, thin-lipped, as though it was hard to admit.

V'ar contemplated him for a while. The form and substance of her own sleepless night moved forward into her awareness, settling into the channels of her blood and lymph and nerves, and closing around her heart.

_Now is the time. There may not be any other._

V'ar took her next breath, folded her arms, planted her feet with invisible roots that went all the way down into Coruscant's core, and began.

"I'm glad to hear that."

"What?"

"I'm glad it's personal. I used to… when we were much younger we used to wonder whether you had a heart at all, and if you did, where it was."

Obi-Wan began to rouse from his icy immobility. "What do you mean, where it was? And who, exactly, do you man by 'we'?"

"Well," V'ar said, more carefully, "we… a group of Padawans, that is… used to invent stories about the most likely location of your heart."

Obi-Wan stared at her.

"Lon claimed that you didn't have a heart at all… that you'd been born without one, but the Force was so strong with you that it kept you alive."

"Lon Erian said that about me?"

V'ar warmed to her tale. "Poulin once announced to a group of us at midday meal that, using an arcane esoteric technique, you'd managed to separate your heart from your body altogether and wore it on a chain around your neck for special occasions only. We all laughed so hard that they evicted us from the refectory." She grinned with the memory.

The look on Obi-Wan's face was pure amazement.

"Brith? Young Poulin Brith said that?"

V'ar nodded happily. "Do you want to know my version?"

"No!"

V'ar told him anyway. "I used to expound the theory that your heart was the size of a pooka-nut, and directly attached to your brain stem. Reason over emotion, and all that."

"Hypothesis," Obi-Wan corrected automatically, looking very gloomy. "It wasn't your theory, it was your hypothesis."

V'ar laughed. "Point made!" Her laughter faded. "Anakin always insisted that you had a heart, a big heart, but that you kept it tucked behind your left kneecap for safety."

Obi-Wan hid his face in his hands. There was a long silence. Finally, from between his fingers he asked, "Why my left kneecap?"

"You're right handed. It had something complicated to do with your style of swordsmanship."

Obi-Wan groaned.

"He always defended you, you know, in his own way."

"I… I was unaware that I required defending."

"Many of us were afraid of you. Not when we were younglings, of course. But later, when the lessons became harder and the demands on us greater, you were always the first Master to point out an error or to make us do something over. We wanted to be like you; all the older Padawans did. But you always seemed so unapproachable. Anakin was the only one who wasn't intimidated by you in the least."

Obi-wan had dropped his hands into his lap. "Why should he have been?" he said in a hoarse whisper. "I was his … his Master."

"You weren't an easy Master to please, by all accounts. But he never stopped trying."

"Why are you doing this, V'ar? Why are you forcing me to talk about Anakin right now?"

V'ar dropped to one knee in front of Obi-Wan where he sat slumped on his cot. "Because I think it's necessary. I'm sorry to intrude on your private grief, but after what I saw and experienced yesterday in the Chancellor's office, and afterward, I can't stop thinking about Anakin. Obi-Wan, did you see him? I mean, I know you didn't want to engage with him, but didn't you observe him yesterday?"

"Yes." Obi-Wan conceded dully. "I saw him." Then his look sharpened. "Afterward? What did you do afterward?"

"I waited for Anakin. I spoke to him briefly."

"And?" Obi-Wan continued to look at her expectantly.

"Well, he didn't jump out at me waving a red lightsaber," V'ar began dryly, but something about the expression on Obi-Wan's face made her instantly rethink her approach. "He looks… he seems…" V'ar hesitated, and then got back to her feet and began to pace the short span of Obi-Wan's sleeping chamber.

"Back when Anakin was in the Temple, he would knock the stuffing out of anyone who so much as whispered the words 'The Chosen One.' Do you remember? He hated the name, he hated the idea, and he hated the expectations that got heaped on him as a result. So we learned to keep quiet about it. But it wasn't hard to imagine that he really might be the Chosen One, if there was such a thing. There was so much about him that set him apart from the rest of us."

"The Force is strong with him," Obi-Wan murmured almost wistfully.

"Yes," V'ar agreed, not missing a step in her pacing. "But that's not the only thing. There was something special about Anakin - a kind of eternal spark that let you know no matter what happened, he refused to be defeated. In fact, it began to seem as though he couldn't be defeated, you know? That was the impression he gave, anyway. Not everyone liked him, but I can't think of anyone who wouldn't have wanted to have Anakin there in a life and death situation."

She stopped pacing finally, and frowned at the silent Obi-Wan. "I think we all believed in him, on some level. It was hard not to."

There was another long silence. Obi-Wan cleared his throat and said quietly, "Master Jinn once said that Anakin 'walked hand in hand with his destiny.'

"He might not say that now," V'ar said brusquely. "Not if he had been in Palpatine's office with us yesterday. You saw Anakin, Obi-Wan. Tell me what you saw."

Obi-Wan looked away.

"Please."

Obi-Wan clasped his hands in his lap. "I saw defeat," he said finally. "He looks defeated."

"I have never seen him look that way, Obi-Wan. Never. Not in the worst of circumstances. I'm still not clear why Anakin left the Order on Naboo – you never talk about it and the Council gave out only the most basic information. But if he is, or was, the Chosen One – if by some mysterious force of Destiny he really does hold within him even the tiniest possibility of helping the Galaxy – then we're in serious trouble."

"We were in trouble a long time ago, V'ar. We were in trouble when Anakin began to ally himself with the Chancellor and the Dark Side. No one actually knows how long that alliance has been in the making." He glanced up at V'ar with shadowed eyes. "Anakin is lost to us. Palpatine has him within his grasp. There is nothing we can do."

V'ar shook her head. "It's wrong. It feels so wrong. He shouldn't be there."

"Everything about the Dark side is wrong, V'ar! But that is the path that Anakin chose!"

"That's just it!" V'ar retorted. "That's what struck me as so strange! Anakin doesn't _want_ to be in Palpatine's grasp. Can't you see that? Whatever the reasons for his choice, he doesn't _want_ to be there. But he has lost all the will to fight it. That…that _spark_ is gone. It's gone, Obi-Wan! He's like a shadow of himself."

"What do you expect? The Dark Side is tightening its grip. You saw how bold Palpatine has become in flaunting his powers."

"Yes, I saw that little display. His Excellency let us know that he has no fear of the Jedi. But that's not what I'm talking about. Even if Anakin were a full-blown Sith by now – and it's perfectly obvious that he isn't – wouldn't he still have that characteristic spark? That pride? The kind of overconfidence that drove you crazy?"

"I cannot imagine a Sith Master tolerating anything other than complete obedience."

V'ar stopped her pacing and once again planted herself stubbornly in front of Obi-Wan, so that he had to look up at her. "There's a big difference between obedience and defeat."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What if Anakin didn't choose that path, Obi-Wan? What if it chose him?"

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed fiercely. "He disobeyed the Council, Var. Not once, not twice, but as a way of life. He abandoned his duty for personal gain. He put innocent lives at risk to achieve his own ends. He murdered Jedi – Jedi just like you, whom he grew up with. And in the end, he chose to leave the Order – to leave us all behind – and to ally himself with Palpatine."

V'ar frowned. "I expect that you know better than I do. It's just that the incongruity bothers me. If Anakin is that corrupt, that vicious, that hopelessly unreachable, why does he strike me as a man who would give up the keys to Palpatine's kingdom for a single kind word from you?"

Obi-Wan's mouth opened as though he were about to retort, and then the breath went out of him and he closed it again. A deep silence settled over the small, spare sleeping chamber.

"I'm deeply sorry to have intruded," V'ar said at last. "I'd like to leave you to your thoughts. But Master Windu wants you. And he wants you now."

Feeling a little drained, but much more centered now that she'd said what she had to say, V'ar waited patiently while Obi-Wan slowly unfolded himself from the edge of his cot and straightened his robes. V'ar turned to leave, knowing that whatever his thoughts, whatever his feelings, the great Jedi Knight would do his duty and follow her out the door.

x

Anakin's morning meditation had been long and arduous, more like a fight than a spiritual practice. He had waited longer than he ought to begin it; the sun had already been high. But today he had let the dawn slip by, lingering instead by Padmé's side, following her around through her morning routine until she finally had left him for the day with a drawn out hug that needed no words to go with it. Only then had he gone out onto the day lit balcony to do battle with the Force.

No, that wasn't right. The Force wasn't his opponent. It just was. The Force responded to him; it was himself that he was fighting.

He really felt like ripping something to shreds.

He closed his eyes. Shut down his surface thoughts. Pulled the Force into his body and his mind. Circled in on himself. Deeper. Deeper. He tried to let go. _Just circle. Sink into the Force. Let go._ But something kept holding his awareness. When he tried to find the universe, all he found was his own face staring back at him.

Anakin opened his eyes. _Breathe. Calm._ He closed them again. Went down again. The same thing happened. He left the outer world behind and plunged into the spaces that only a trained mind can go. He sought eternity. Instead, there he was, staring back. Anakin had the urge to smash his own face. He rose up again and opened his eyes. Everything around him was exactly the same.

This was ridiculous.

Anakin battled with that reflection himself for along time before he gave up.

That was ridiculous, too.

_I don't give up._

He glanced out over the city beyond the balcony. The sun sat even higher. The busy Coruscant day had begun full throttle. There was movement everywhere, above and below.

Impatiently Anakin stood up and stalked a few circles around the large living room before coming to a stop in the same spot on the balcony.

The world around him was alive with movement. The meditation demanded stillness and distance from it.

The world was full of energy, thrust, and momentum. The morning meditation demanded that those connections be severed.

The world could be changed, shaped, manipulated. The meditative state effectively negated his perception of matter, slipping the mind and being into the spaces in between.

Anakin held up his ungloved metal hand and formed a fist. This new one was so much better than the first, awkward appendage that had been fitted by the Jedi healers. The connection with his body seemed perfect; it was hard to distinguish between the tactile sensations provided by this one and his real hand. The annoying problem of a delay in the artificial hand's reaction time was a thing of the past. Best of all, he was able to channel the Force through this one. It still took concentration, but he could do it. As if to prove the truth of it, Anakin opened the hand and pushed a stream of the living Force through the dead thing. He could feel the resistance. He pushed harder, and felt his will prevail. A large planter full of flowers on the opposite side of balcony smashed against the balcony railing, scattering dirt and petals and foliage everywhere.

Anakin smiled. It was a small thing, but it meant a lot to him. It was a reminder that even when he seemed invisible, his presence could be felt. He could make his presence felt. That hadn't changed.

Planting his feet shoulder width apart and clasping his hands behind his back, Anakin once again closed his eyes. This time his purpose was different as he circled down inside of himself. Awake and aware inside of another kind of awareness, Anakin called up the powerful Forces of the flame meditation, reveling in the ease and the power with which their energy surged up through his body and filled his awareness. It was easy. There was no battle to fight.

What a relief it was to feel strong.


	13. Chapter 12 Inside the Sanctum

**Chapter 12. Inside the Sanctum**

**  
**

Seen from below, the four needle-tipped towers of the Jedi Temple appeared to pierce the pale gray sky as the unmarked shuttle approached a landing platform somewhere on the lower levels of the complex. While the small craft's Jedi pilot remained wrapped in the polite silence into which he had withdrawn since the shuttle's takeoff from a featureless shopping district almost an hour's journey away, its lone passenger craned her neck to sight up the soaring towers. This was the first time Mon Mothma had been this close to the legendary Temple. She felt much more like a tourist on an alien world than like an invited guest with business ahead.

She startled when the craft's sudden maneuver into a featureless tunnel blocked her view, not to mention all the light. A moment later the tunnel opened into a small interior landing platform. Leaning forward so she could search for other vessels that might indicate that her colleagues already had arrived, Mon was disappointed to find it completely empty. Briefly she wondered just how many such hidden ports the ancient complex contained.

The shuttle settled to a cloud-soft landing. Before Mon could move her pilot, a long-legged Padawan learner, jumped out as lightly as he had landed the craft and opened the door to the passenger compartment to assist her out.

"Thank you," Mon said politely, wondering why, considering that she couldn't be much older than the young Jedi, the gesture made her feel ancient.

"Senator Mothma," the Padawan said with solemn formality. "This way, please."

Ah, yes. That was it. The gravity of her office. Well, she refused to let it make her old before her time. Refusing the proffered hand Mon jumped out of the craft a little more athletically than necessary and matched the taller Jedi stride for stride as she was led through a discrete doorway. Once they had stepped inside a lofty, gleaming hallway, though, Mon immediately reverted back to being a tourist, gazing around her slack mouthed and in awe.

She never had seen anything like it.

It wasn't just the scale of the Temple's soaring interior spaces that stunned her. It was their beauty. Given the resolute outer modesty and practicality shown by every Jedi she had ever met, and knowing that they eschewed possessions of all kinds, Mon had assumed that their Temple would be equally plain and artless. But this… this was like a palace. No, not a palace – there was no ostentation in it, although it was filled with art and craftsmanship that made extraordinary use of some of the most beautiful materials known in the Galaxy. There was something understated about the buildings' beauty; a hushed reverence that reminded her more of an ancient museum or university than a palace. Soaring statues rendered in styles and materials she had never seen before anchored the many sublime public spaces, while graceful stairways and walkways seemed to encircle the interior spaces in a tender embrace.

Mon's young guide kept up a fairly quick pace as he unerringly led his charge through a labyrinth of interlocking spaces and corridors. This was only the public face of the Temple, Mon reminded herself. The part that visitors were allowed to see. What wonders, what riches of art and architecture must be hidden in the other parts of the vast complex?

What a continuing mystery these Jedi were. Outwardly so plain; inwardly so many-sided and … well… inspired. Their Temple was the same. She looked around eagerly. For all its size the Temple seemed to be wrapped in a hush. She got the distinct feeling that shouting, or running, or even arguing was discouraged by the architecture itself. Every line, every curve, even the shape of every space seemed to invite consideration and contemplation.

Mon was almost disappointed when her guide finally showed her into a small meeting room whose only ornamentation seemed to be its unusual, almost conical shape and the single starburst window where the ceiling narrowed to a peak. The ceiling window managed to flood the room with light while its solid walls and circular shape gently obliged its occupants to focus inward toward the center. _Clever_, Mon thought appreciatively. _In a room like this, there is no choice but to face the others who are there with you._

There were two others in the room when Mon entered, neither of them Jedi. Her guide had disappeared. Bail Organa was deep in a hushed conversation with Garm Bel Iblis, but both looked up at her as she moved closer. Bail smiled. Bel Iblis waggled his fingers at her in a random greeting.

"You're going to have to explain to me how you pulled this off," Mon greeted them quietly. "I know we needed someplace safe to meet, but the _Jedi Temple?_ How by all the stars in the Galaxy did you persuade them to allow this, without disclosing the true purposes of our group?"

Bail averted his eyes. Bel Iblis just snorted. "Hah!"

Mon stared at Bail, and then at the Corellian Senator.

No. Surely not.

It had been shock enough to be informed that their long-awaited meeting would take place in the Jedi Temple. It was without a doubt the safest place on Coruscant, but the Jedi guarded their privacy fiercely. You didn't visit the Jedi – they visited you. Yet a complicated arrangement had been made whereby Mon had been required to travel to a distant part of Coruscant that she would normally never visit in order to meet her escort in the unmarked speeder. She could only assume that the others were using equally convoluted methods to ensure secrecy.

And then the escort had turned out to be a Jedi.

It was beginning to all make sense, but the kind of sense that made her feel as though everything that she knew and understood slowly was turning inside out. _The Jedi know about us and they support us, even though what we're doing is treason against the Republic..._ Mon grabbed Bail's arm for support while her thoughts began to race. "_This_ is what you needed to tell me, Bail? That the _Jedi _have taken an interest in our cause?" The implications were staggering.

The Viceroy of Alderaan sighed and nodded. "Among other things."

"An interest?" Bel Iblis rumbled. "I'd call it coercion." Before Mon could react, he glanced toward the door behind her and added, "And here is our taskmaster now."

Speechless with astonishment, Mon turned around to see two Jedi Knights enter the round room. She didn't recognize either one. The bearded Jedi dumbfounded her further by inviting everyone to take a seat, thereby making it appear that not only would he attend their private meeting, but that he would lead it. The Twi'lek Jedi hung back and seemed to defer to the bearded Knight.

It was a good thing that Bail's arm was strong; Mon still clung to it tightly. "Where is Amidala?" she demanded suddenly of the Jedi. "And who are you?"

A high-pitched squeal from the doorway stole everyone's attention before she got any answers. "Kenobi! My savior!" A very, short, very round figure lurched inside the room and practically threw himself on the bearded Jedi, who weathered the noisy and smothering embrace stoically.

"Senator Y'lia," he said, when he had extracted himself. "I'm pleased to see that you are well."

"Thanks to you, Master Jedi! All thanks to you and to …_Bail Organa_!"

Who was this Jedi? Mon wondered, as her companion became the target of such an enveloping hug that she was knocked loose from his arm. And why did Y'lia feel he owed him his life?

"Hello, Y'lia," Bail said warmly. "You're looking none the worse for the wear. Thanks for the whiskey. Mon delivered it safely."

"Mon, my dear!" Y'lia shrieked joyfully, and she found herself in turn being enveloped by the abundant soft flesh of the Zarrun Senator, who stood no higher than her shoulder.

"Y'lia," she gasped, trying not to laugh when she noticed that while she and Bail were being assaulted, Bel Iblis had escaped to the other side of the room and now stood in relative safety behind … Kenobi? Was that the Jedi's name?

As if sensing her questions the Jedi Knight looked straight at her and bowed. "Senator Mothma of Chandrila," he said formally, "Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. This … he reached out a hand to indicate that the other Jedi should step forward … is V'ar Taanil. We have been assigned by the Jedi Council to support your cause in every way possible.

Suddenly Mon thought it was time to take the Jedi Knight up on his offer of a seat. She sank down in the nearest one, noticing how the room's chairs had been arranged in an intimate circle. There was no table on which to rest one's elbows or to form a convenient barrier when one was wanted; there was nothing to indicate which was the 'power' seat or who would occupy it. There was just the circle, and the people who would form it. Accustomed as she was to the gamesmanship of the Senate, Mon felt somehow exposed. Vulnerable.

Kenobi's good manners and courtesy were reassuring, though, as he took the seat to her right. "It appears that you are the only one of the group whom I have not met, and who has not yet been brought up to date about the Jedi Council's …ah… interest in your goals," he explained. "It was not intentional, I assure you. It's just that certain recent events brought me together with the others before you."

"Where is Amidala?" Mon asked again. Somewhere in the middle of the last few confusing minutes she had decided that she would no longer allow herself to become disconcerted about anything. No matter what happened. She didn't enjoy feeling vulnerable one bit, and didn't intend to allow it to continue. She looked into the Jedi Knight's steady blue-gray eyes, but found an odd kind of comfort in the fact that they were almost the same color as the ones she saw in the mirror every day…maybe a bit more blue… but equally determined. She liked that.

Those eyes flicked up, breaking her train of thought, and from behind her Bail's voice answered her question. "Padmé has withdrawn from our group, Mon. She has … a conflict of interest." He sat down to her left. Mon looked from one man to the other while the quiet Jedi, Y'lia and Bel Iblis drew closer and found chairs for themselves. The Corellian Senator maneuvered around to make sure that the Twi'lek Jedi sat between himself and Y'lia.

"What conflict of interest?" Mon persisted. "This group was her initiative to begin with."

"Stupid woman," Bel Iblis muttered. "Who knows what in the seven Hells she was thinking, marrying that lackey of Palpatine's?"

Mon could have sworn she saw a dark flash in the gray eyes of the Jedi on her right at the words "lackey of Palpatine's" before she turned to Bail for an explanation.

"You can't be serious. Padmé withdrew? _Padmé_?"

Bail nodded somberly. "Padmé is married to a man who is a former Jedi" – here he shot a hard glance across Mon's lap at Kenobi, who stared back with a set jaw – "and now works for Palpatine in some mysterious but influential capacity that no one really understands. She confirmed her marriage when I saw her."

"Oh, my!" Y'lia giggled across from Mon. Apparently this was news to him as well, and he clearly was enchanted by its gossip value. Not for the first time Mon wondered why Bail had invited the garrulous Senator from the Zarrun system to be part of the conspiracy that would no doubt be the death of them all. And more to the point, why Y'lia had agreed.

"I met him," Bail added coolly. "I think she was wise to withdraw."

This time it was the Twi'lek whose eyes belied her composed demeanor as she shot a quick glance at Kenobi. _A former Jedi. _Mon's curiosity about both the Jedi beside her and Padmé's 'former Jedi' soared, but she contained it. The business at hand always came first.

"That Naboo is going to kill us all," Bel Iblis insisted stubbornly, "if she hasn't already. We might all be dead and just don't know it yet."

While for the moment Mon lagged behind in understanding the subtleties that surrounded the discussion of Amidala and her new husband, she wanted no part of Bel Iblis' doom saying. "That's enough, Garm! I'm still very much alive, and I intend to stay that way. I hope the rest of you do, too. There is much work to be done. As for Padmé – its clear that we don't yet have all the information that we need, but I will tell you right now that there is no point in speculating. We can't deal effectively with what we don't know. We can only take action based on the facts we have at hand."

All eyes in the group turned toward her expectantly. Even Kenobi seemed to be waiting with interest for her to continue. So that was how this worked! Any chair could become the 'power chair." Mon felt immediately more comfortable. She turned to Bail.

"You met with Padmé. Do you think that she will betray us?"

Bail looked horrified. "Certainly not! She withdrew from our circle to protect us."

_Our circle._ Mon looked around at the other faces and liked the image. There was something about the picture of a circle that implied cohesion and order. It appealed to her. She glanced at Kenobi again, but aside from a tiny gleam in his eyes that might have been amusement, she saw nothing more than polite attention in his manner. Fine, then. She would continue.

"I choose to trust Padmé for now," Mon said decidedly. "I don't know enough about her situation to draw any conclusions about it but for the moment I'm willing to leave it to her judgment and move on from there. Anyone else?"

There was some silent shifting, but no open disagreement. "Very well," Mon continued. "From the original seven, there are now only the four of us …"

Kenobi cleared his throat politely.

"… so if no one else objects, I'd like to have the Jedi's involvement in our small…" Mon Mothma of Chandrila looked around again … "_circle _explained to me in detail."

x

"Come in, child, don't be frightened." With hard-won self-awareness Mace made a huge effort not to look fearsome. Normally he wouldn't have bothered, but there was something about this young woman that made him feel protective; a certain deep-seated fragility that was only exacerbated by her current emotional and physical state. She needed careful handling.

His visitor glanced quickly at the Padawan who had escorted her to him, but already he was bowing and slipping away out the door. Mace observed the young woman's hesitation and her eventual decision to move forward into the room dispassionately, and then indicated where she should sit. The room Mace had chosen for this encounter was small, suitable for a private conversation between two people.

The girl was terribly anxious. Mace gathered the Force around them both in a wash of reassurance and waited until she had visibly relaxed before speaking again.

"You _are _doing the right thing," he said gently.

The girl – he couldn't help thinking of her that way – startled and blushed. To her it must have seemed as though he was reading her mind. She would have no idea how vividly her intense emotions translated in the Force.

"Senator Amidala has always been kind to me," she said hastily. "I don't want to get her into any trouble…"

"You won't," Mace assured her. "You and I both know why you're here. We share a deep uneasiness about Anakin Skywalker, and what he might do next. We are trying to prevent another tragedy of the kind that brought you to us in the first place."

The girl's knuckles were white in her lap, but she nodded.

"I like to think," Mace said with a ghost of a mile that was meant to be reassuring, "that the Jedi can be trusted to do the right thing."

"_He_ was a Jedi," the girl said to her lap. "Anakin was."

A brief, uncomfortable silence circled the room before Mace spoke again. "Have you seen him?"

"I see him every day," the girl sighed. "I heard Padmé say that he will be here on Coruscant at least until the Chancellor's reception." She glanced at Mace and he nodded, encouraging her to continue. "He caught me in Padmé's office two nights ago, but I don't think he suspects me of… anything." She clasped her hands together tightly. "He doesn't talk to me much." Then, to Mace's mild surprise, she spat, "I hope it's because he's burning up with guilt!"

"What is Senator Amidala working on now?" Mace asked gently, shifting the subject to give the girl's emotions time to settle again. The girl quickly recited from memory a list of legislative and committee work whose sheer volume must keep Senator Amidala busy from early morning until late at night. Nevertheless, Mace reflected, none of the bills or committees that she had listed was among Palpatine's personal priorities.

"To your knowledge, has Senator Amidala met with Chancellor Palpatine since her return to Coruscant?"

"No." Padmé's private secretary shook her head. "He doesn't call her the way he used to before, either. In fact …" the girl frowned, thinking … "I don't think she has spoken to him once since her return."

It was as Mace had surmised. Amidala was being politically sidelined. Her personal influence would soon be reduced to insignificance. "There must still be bad feelings between them after the terrible charges the Chancellor made against her," he suggested kindly. "Perhaps it is better for Senator Amidala this way."

The girl nodded, and her tension eased even more. She had relaxed enough for Mace to bring the conversation back around to Anakin.

"I imagine that Skywalker meets with the Chancellor quite often."

"He travels to the Senate building with us every day. I don't know what he does after he leaves Padmé's office."

Mace sat quietly, contemplating the girl who was carrying Jedi Knight Lon Erian's child. Mace had held out such hope for the young man before Anakin had wantonly destroyed him on Naboo. And then this unknown girl had sought out the Jedi, seeking an explanation for Erian's death so persistently that in time her quest had been brought to Mace's personal attention. The truth about her relationship with Erian had tumbled out of her in a tearful scene. The result of their liaison – a highly Force-sensitive child – had been confirmed by Jedi healers. In the end, Mace had taken her under his wing. For a lot of reasons.

The girl hadn't provided him any more useful information this time than she has the first time they had met in this way, but he considered his personal relationship with her a long-term investment. Someday she might. In the meantime he would continue to look out for her.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Dellia. Don't forget to let the healers have a look at you before you go. I told them to expect you."

The girl – _young woman_, Mace corrected himself; she was pregnant, after all – stood up, looking relieved. "Thank you, Master Windu. I won't forget. Even though I'm fine."

"We want to make certain that you get the best care. It's the least we can do." Mace smiled at her. It seemed to work wonders, because she suddenly smiled as well. And then … and then … she said something unexpected.

"Senator Amidala owns a small private space-worthy ship called the _Defiance_. She keeps it docked on the outskirts of the Senate district." She paused and looked down at her clenched hands. Mace waited. "_He _didn't go into the Senate with us yesterday. One of Padmé's Handmaidens mentioned that he'd spent the whole day out at the docks working on the ship." She shrugged, and then glanced sidelong at Mace. "Maybe he's planning to go somewhere?"

"Perhaps," Mace agreed equably, while the Force around him suddenly shifted into a completely new pattern. "You've been a great help, Dellia. I'll see you again next time."

Dellia nodded. She seemed much happier when she left than when she had arrived.

Mace sat back to contemplate the tiny shred of news.

x

"It's not a question of weapons and materiel!" Bail Organa insisted for the umpteenth time. "It's not possible to fight Palpatine openly. The Separatists have already done that, and look where it's gotten them. Every bit of opposition just gives him the opportunity to become more entrenched in his personal position and in his policies. He seems to _thrive_ on opposition. It gives him monstrous strength. Look at the Military Creation Act – it was intended as a means of defending the Republic, and he has used it to create a Military whose power and influence will continue to grow even after the war ends."

"Then what do you suggest, Bail?" Bel Iblis growled impatiently. Polite notes asking him to stop? A slap on the hand, maybe?"

"Don't be absurd," Bail snapped. "I'm just saying that we have to think and act in ways that _don't _serve Palpatine.

Mon leaned forward to indicate her re-entry into the debate. It had gone on in the same vein for too long.

"It's about influence," she insisted. "It's Palpatine's currency. He already has bought the Republic with it, and if we win this war, he'll do the same with the rest of the Galaxy. If we have any influence remaining individually and collectively, we must use it to bring it to rally more Senators to our cause."

"And then what, Mon?" Bel Iblis demanded. "Do we then all sit around wringing our hands? What does it matter if we are four or four hundred if we don't take action? I have offered the Corellia system's refugee camps as the perfect place to begin gathering people and weapons…"

"To do what with, Bel Iblis?" The almost unflappable Prince Organa was losing his legendary patience. His normally composed face darkened as his anger grew. "If that's all you can think of proposing, we might as well join the Separatists!"

"Senator Mothma is right. It's all about influence," Kenobi said suddenly.

It silenced everyone. The Jedi Knight had hardly spoken during the meeting.

"There are different ways of bringing influence to bear," Kenobi went on. "Palpatine does it in the form of a transaction: "you do this for me and I'll do that for you." He paused to looked around the circle at each member in turn. "It's the key to his power. He stands at the center of everything, and bit by bit has ensured that everything begins and ends with him."

"What other ways are there?" Bail prompted after a short silence.

"Influence can be brought to bear in the form of information and ideas," Kenobi said carefully. "Ideas that inspire action and initiative in others, prompting them to act of their own free will. Ideas like that spread of their own volition once set in motion. Each person becomes a center for those ideas, but they work together toward common goals."

There was another brief silence, and Bel Iblis began to laugh. "You want us to go out and preach to the masses, Kenobi? Go on the holonet and announce that Palpatine isn't answer to the Galaxy's fears about the war after all? How long do you think we'd last?"

"No!" Mon broke in. "Wait! I know what he means." A picture was beginning to form in her mind – a map, really – that looked like a vast network of linked lines and nodes not unlike the mate-web of a Chandrilan Octoped. It was an elegant structure, a wonder of nature: simple yet strong, infinitely expandable, and deadly effective for catching its prey. Best of all, it was practically invisible.

She looked around the room. All eyes were on her.

"I think I know how to do this."


	14. Chapter 13 The Price of Freedom

**Chapter 13. The Price of Freedom**

"It's amazing, Padmé. I didn't think I'd get that much power out of her, but the base engine design is pretty flexible. You can keep adding…" Anakin's voice trailed away. His wife's knowing dark eyes were fixed on him unwaveringly, so focused that he was losing his own … umm… concentration… "Padmé? Is something wrong?"

Her eyes stared into his, and he couldn't move. They drew him out of himself, they called him to another place. Anakin felt he could lose himself their soft depths, which under other circumstances sounded like a wonderful idea. It was just that there was something... a feeling… the more he forgot about what he was saying and focused on her, the clearer it became.

It seemed that he was in trouble.

"Padmé?" She hadn't moved. She still sat quietly, with her cheek propped on one hand, her hair tumbling over the other shoulder like a waterfall. Her skin glowed in the soft light.

So beautiful.

He never got over the sheer surprise of her beauty. Amid the scattered remains of their leisurely evening meal she was a feast for the eyes and senses…

Eyes. Her eyes were still were boring into his.

_Ow._

The need to keep looking at her outweighed the urge to duck, so Anakin sat and waited courageously for what was to come while ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Were you planning on going somewhere in the blastboat?" Padmé asked mildly. Too mildly for the look in her eyes.

Anakin began to tread as carefully as a Jedi in a hostile wood, not knowing what beast might leap out from around the next tree, but taking no chances. "Well, she's been docked since we came to Coruscant. And I never did get a chance to fix those environmental controls…"

"That's why you went there? To fix the environmental controls?"

She really was upset about something. "Umm… mostly I just wanted to look her over. Then I started working on her, and you know how it is… one thing led to another…."

"Why did you want to look over the _Defiance_? Why now, all of a sudden?"

"Well, I thought… I thought I might be able to use her for this next mission. I'm going in undercover, and she's a great little ship…" He stopped. He was definitely in trouble now, and worse yet, still not clear why.

"The _Defiance_? You want to take the _Defiance_ on a mission? For _Palpatine_?"

"Well… it's only for a short time. A couple of weeks at most. I thought I'd try her out…" _Think, Anakin! _The unbidden memory of a familiar voice from long ago admonished. A dim understanding began to dawn …too late.

"She's _ours_, Anakin! Our ship! Our safety… _our_ means of escape…"

"I know, Padmé! That's why I wanted to make sure she's in the best shape. I guess I thought I'd take her for a trial run…"

"A trial run for Palpatine. Leaving me here not only alone, but without a quick means of escape."

"No! Padmé, I didn't mean anything like …" again Anakin's voice trailed away.

A new thought struck him hard.

"Why would you need the blastboat if I'm not here? Where would you go without me? If you had to go back to Naboo you could arrange other transport."

"She's _ours_, Anakin. Yours and mine. The _Defiance_ is waiting there for the day you say we can go away. The two of us. The way we said we would. She's not there for you to use on suspect missions for… for _him_!"

"You're saying I can't take her?"

"I'm saying, why _would_ you?"

Anakin fell silent in confusion. What _had_ he been thinking? It had seemed so logical at the time… and it still did make sense to him on some level. It was because the _Defiance_ was theirs that he wanted to take her on his mission into the neutral territories. The hardly little ship was imbued with memories of Padmé; of their last escape, of their secret journey together, and with the idea that some day… some day… they would be able to escape everything and disappear from the Galaxy to a place of safety …

_Some day._

"We haven't talked about it for ages," Padmé said into his silence. "About going away together. Don't you… do you still want to go?"

"Of _course_ I want to go." Anakin's heart clutched so hard that his voice came out hoarse, even to his own ears. _Someday we'll go… someday when it's safe…"_It's the thing I want most."

"When?"

"What?"

"When shall we go, Anakin? Give me the word and I'll leave with you right now. We'll leave tonight, without a word to anyone."

"You would do that?" Anakin's voice still wasn't working right. The strain of getting it past the lump in his throat and the mounting panic in his gut diffracted it into rough shards. _It's not safe … he'll find me… _

"Yes. I would. I told you I'm ready now. The question is, would you?"

"I can't," Anakin gasped in panic. "We can't." _He'll find us… I can't get away…_ "Not right now. It's… it's complicated…"

"Then when?" As usual, Padmé divined at least some part of what he was thinking and feeling. Her hand crept across the table to clasp his. It wasn't a tender grip. She was pulling him toward her, holding him fast as though he might drift away. "It's never going to be safe. We've always known that. The time will never be right, but that never stopped you before." She placed her other hand on her belly. The longer we wait, the harder it will be."

Anakin gripped her back, holding on for dear life. "You don't know how closely he watches me, Padmé. He knows every move I make. He…he almost knows what I'm _thinking_…"

"That can't be true, Anakin. It's just the way he makes you feel." When he didn't answer, she added, a little more urgently, "You made a bargain with Palpatine, but that doesn't mean he owns you!"

A chill traveled down Anakin's spine, faint enough to be a memory yet immediate enough to make him shiver. "Doesn't he?" he burst out.

"No!" Padmé found his other hand and clung to both, manifestly claiming him for herself. As though the gesture had closed a circuit between them Anakin immediately felt safer and stronger. Very quickly he found a little equilibrium again.

"You're right," he agreed. His good humor began to return. "_You_ own me. Body and soul."

"Then you have to do my bidding," she shot back. The attempted lightness of her words wasn't convincing alongside the worry in her eyes.

"Don't I always?"

"Come away with me, Anakin."

"I… I can't… _we_ can't… not right now." All humor left him in a rush.

Padmé studied him somberly. "How will you know when it's the right time?"

Anakin clung to her hands desperately, willing her to understand. It wasn't that he didn't want to; it was just that he didn't have any clear idea about how to elude the dark presence that haunted him …

Padmé's eyes were so beautiful. So … troubled.

He always had known that she was destined for him. He had pursued her. Fought for her. Killed for her … Anakin skipped over that thought as quickly as possible… he always, always had done whatever he had to do to protect her. And now here she was by his side, in his hands, depending on him, and he had to safeguard her life and that of their child. Anakin's tumbling thoughts shifted to the radiant life Force that was joined to Padmé's. It was astonishing how much energy one tiny being could generate … his mind felt heavy, clouded, as though thinking itself was a weight he had to carry a long, long distance…

"Anakin?"

His attention swung back to Padmé. For some reason this conversation was different from others. It felt like climbing a stony slope where you kept slipping back downward. There were so many near misses… a step forward, a slip back… so hard to keep focus… it was odd, it seemed that every time he thought about fighting against the darkness, it was there inside of his mind …

_Think, Anakin. _

Padmé dropped his hands, shocking Anakin out of his confused thoughts. _No! Don't let go!_ But to his relief she only moved closer, pushing his chair back so that she could settle herself on his lap, wrapping her arms around him, leaning her cheek against his. It felt like an ache was being soothed away.

"Anakin, what's wrong?"

"I don't know, Padmé," he whispered. "Sometimes it's just hard to keep everything in balance, you know? I feel like I'm being pushed and pulled from all sides. It's hard to think, to know what to do…"

"Come away with me," she breathed into his ear.

Longing burned through his veins. "I can't…" Anakin could feel himself beginning to tremble from the effort of holding aloft the weight that was crushing him. If he slipped, if he gave in, she would die… everyone would die…

"Anakin, please. Don't be afraid. You've never been afraid like this before…"

The words sliced cleanly through the pandemonium of his thoughts.

Like a knife.

"You don't know! No one knows what it's like!"

"That's all the more reason to put it behind you! Anakin, you've changed so much in these last few weeks. You used to be unstoppable, once you made up your mind about something. You used to be the one who made things happen – the one who made other people take risks they otherwise never would have taken. You made everything seem possible. Now you're like your own shadow…"

Something inside of Anakin ripped open.

"I do it for you, Padmé! Everything I do, I do for you! I walk this thin line for you. I'm careful because of you. And now you're telling me that it's not good enough, that I have to do more…"

All at once he needed to get away. He needed to move. Anakin stood up abruptly, pushing Padmé away and off his lap so hard that she stumbled when she tried to find her feet, and quickly strode… where? There was nowhere to run. The apartment that he shared with Padmé was behind him and the indifferent city lay spread out beneath the balcony. Anakin never had felt so trapped.

"We all made sacrifices, Anakin." Padmé's voice came from somewhere behind him, low and sweet and strong as a steady wind. "You most of all. Don't think I don't know that. I grieve for what you had to do every minute of every day. All I want…" She paused, and Anakin realized he was gripping the balcony railing with all of his strength. "All I want," her patient voice went on, "is for us to find an end to it. And a new beginning."

"I asked you to go with me once." The railing continued to suffer under his hands. "Other things were more important."

"I was wrong."

Anakin closed his eyes. He felt dizzy.

"We can't change the past, Anakin. But we can try not to make the same mistakes again."

"What if… what if…" Anakin couldn't get the words out. _What if I'm still not strong enough?_

When her voice came back to him after a longer pause it was closer. Very close. Her breath against his neck and the touch of her hand on his shoulder made him shiver. "I don't know about you, Anakin, but I'd rather die trying to get away than waiting for something to happen."

Anakin's eyes flew open. "No one is going to die!" he snapped. And suddenly, fiercely, he felt it to be true. Once again, after trying so hard to steer clear of it, he came face to face with the one thing that could turn back the dread he had been carrying around for so long: pure, clear rage.

Rage at the idea that someone or something could take Padmé away from him.

She was right. What had he been thinking? Why had he allowed this to go on so long? He was slowly suffocating, and he had tolerated it and endured it like an obedient Jedi Padawan.

Well, he wasn't any of those things any longer. Not a Jedi. Not a Padawan. And not, the way he felt now, obedient.

The crushing feeling around his heart began to ease. With an odd sense of wonder he watched his fingers uncurl from the railing and his hands slip off it to hand down by his sides. He could feel the breath course through his body, fine and strong. The mist in his mind thinned and cleared.

Padmé slipped around in front of him. Reached up to touch his cheek. Looked searchingly into his eyes… and smiled.

He could drown in her eyes.

"Do you really think we can escape?" he asked. But he knew the answer already. It filled the space between thought and feeling. It resonated in his blood and his bones. It filled him to overflowing.

Soft arms encircled his waist and clouds of hair tickled his nose. His arms slid around her of their own volition. The Force sang to him of freedom. "If you believe that we can," Padmé murmured, "then I do, too."

"As long as I'm with you, I can do anything." The words were an echo from an earlier time, and once again he knew it to be true. _Anything. __Even this. _"But we can't stage our disappearance without a lot of planning and thinking."

"That's all I ask," Padmé conceded, snuggling against his chest. "Let's plan. And think."

"So we aren't leaving tonight?"

Padmé's hand began to trace intriguing paths up and down his back and sides. "Not tonight," she agreed. "But soon."

"As soon as we can," he said, and meant it. His blood was drumming. He felt _alive._

"Then we have a free evening." She wasn't asking a question. She was issuing a command. "You're all mine."

"Yours to do with as you please."

In this case, obedience seemed like a good idea.

Anakin felt his belt being loosened. On impulse, just before he felt it slip away completely, he retrieved his comm. link. Padmé froze when she saw it. Taking great pleasure in the drama of the moment and in the astonished delight on her face, Anakin crushed the device in his gloved fist and tossed the bit of crumpled metal over the balcony railing.

It was a symbol, nothing more; Anakin had no illusions about that. To really escape Palpatine's grasp would be quite another matter. But for the first time in a very long time, he felt at least a little bit… free.

x

Not far away, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic put aside the dark cloak he had worn for his short journey to a disused area of Coruscant's ancient manufacturing district. He could direct many events from behind the scenes, but occasionally his personal presence was required to bend events just that much further, or to subdue a particularly intransigent will. His fully realized persona invariably proved … _persuasive_… in those instances.

It always was a pleasure to unleash his true nature. He looked forward to the time when he could be what he was – all that he was – without persecution. He had come so far already; further than his own Master would have believed.

Master Plagueis had foreseen the end of the Jedi and the rise of the Sith in just a few lifetimes.

The fool.

His apprentice, the one whom Plagueis had thought of as merely another link in that long chain of causality, was bringing it about _now._

_I never was just a link. I am the culmination of that long road to power. I am its zenith. Plagueis died because he could not see that._

That, too, was a pleasure to contemplate. But if he was going to finish the rest of the evening's work he needed to return to the mundane tasks that were the domain of the visible leader of the Republic: the Supreme Chancellor.

It was a constricting and tiresome role, but it couldn't be helped.

Already this evening he had taken the steps that would bring the war a giant step closer to Coruscant. It was time; the Galaxy's people were weary and beaten down. A few more severe blows and they would be ready for peace at any price – even that of their freedom.

Now he needed to return his attention to the microcosm that was Coruscant's political life. Pathetic and inglorious though the Senate now was (and he liked to take a good deal of credit for its rapid fall from glory as a noble democratic body), it was still the political nerve center of the Republic. Events here had an impact throughout the Republic and required his continual vigilance.

For this reason he had returned to his office this late in the evening rather than withdrawing to his private dwelling. He enjoyed the quite unnecessary conceit of being situated at the epicenter of the threads he had spun when he pulled them tightly into his fist. Palpatine looked down at his pale hand and flexed it once. What a crude image that was, to _twist_ and _crush_.

Crude, perhaps; but effective. After all, methods had to suit the goals. And his immediate goals were less than subtle.

The Corellia system would be punished for its refusal to engage in the war.

The Jedi would no doubt come to the aid of the hapless Corellians in the name of freedom and justice.

In the ensuing events the roles, the beliefs, the very _ideals_ of both would be twisted, and …yes … crushed.

How conveniently the bungling Bel Iblis had provided him the right scenario for his plan. And he already was in league with the Jedi! It had saved Palpatine all the time and effort of creating an appropriate cascade of events. Thanks to the Corellian's astonishing mishandling of Anakin's fortunate discovery, this entire segment of his master plan could be moved ahead satisfactorily. Armed with the discoveries that Anakin would inevitably make once he penetrated the hidden world of the Corellian refugees, it would be a simple matter to destroy the two largest remaining realms of independent thought and will in the vast domain that was destined become a single Empire.

_My Empire._

And with Bel Iblis gone the puny group of oppositional Senators would be almost nonexistent. Even now, especially with Amidala effectively hobbled, their feeble efforts were hardly worth any attention at all.

Palpatine frowned, despite the pleasingly concordant projects and schemes that formed soothing patterns in his mind.

_Amidala. _She had been effectively neutralized politically, but her continued existence was proving more troublesome than he had anticipated. While she was alive, as she unfortunately would have to remain until she had produced Anakin's progeny, her influence over Anakin remained disturbingly strong. In fact, he blamed her for the boy's infuriating lack of progress.

Moodily Palpatine pulled the ever-present bowl of firestones toward him and searched for one in particular – the smaller, polished, light-colored one. He tossed it into the air once and caught it, holding it tightly in his fist for just a moment. A long moment. It was a small self-indulgence, that fleeting expression of irritation. Just before the stone reverted to sand in his fist, he opened his hand, released the stone, and placed it on top of the pile in the bowl. A moment later the bowl flared into heatless fire that flared up to the soaring ceiling. Chin on hand, Palpatine stared into the flames.

Now this was really insufferable.

Normally the small stone burned with the fiercest flame of all, while invariably three stones beneath it remained dark and quiet as though shielded by the smaller one. The pattern never varied, no matter what approach he used. That was irritating enough, but would be dealt with in time.

This time the small, pale stone didn't burn at all. It didn't even glow. Nor did the three stones beneath it.

This was Amidala's doing. It had to be.

He had been patient with Anakin. Unbelievably patient. The boy had been perfectly poised for the honor of being initiated into the most powerful mysteries of the Force. All he'd had to do was _ask_. That was the ancient, inviolable rule. The rule that could never be broken. _Taking the next step always had to be an act of conscious volition._

And yet after all the opportunities he had been given, after all the tantalizing hints and offers that had been laid out before him, Anakin hadn't come to him yet, begging to learn the secrets of the darkest arts. What was the matter with him? Had he no curiosity? Had he no ambition? Had the Jedi succeeded in over-influencing him after all? Even being pushed into confronting Kenobi hadn't had the desired effect. The boy was deliberately dampening himself down, holding himself tightly.

For Amidala. He had to be reining himself in for her. It was beyond comprehension. And if this were allowed to continue, it might drag on indefinitely.

It was not acceptable. Time was running out, as was his patience. He would have to find a way to push the boy beyond the limitations of his training – beyond the confines of his private inner universe – beyond the limits of his endurance. It seemed that was the only way to finally bring him to the point of breaking free from those constraints, of releasing those extraordinary powers that destined him for mastery of the darkest regions of the Force.

Anakin's destiny was to be useful to _him_. To become his apprentice.

To be positioned where he could be controlled.

Palpatine glowered at the firestones.

He was tired of waiting.


	15. Chapter 14 Turnabout

**Chapter 14. Turnabout**

**  
**

The sense of loss was there in her dreams. It filled her and frightened her before she was conscious. By the time Padmé was fully awake she was curled in the fetal position and moaning with pain. She struggled desperately to understand what was wrong, but felt paralyzed with something that could only be described as – _what?_ – as hopelessness. It was loss and despair so profound that she felt life itself was slipping away. She couldn't move. She couldn't make a sound.

This must be what it felt like to die. _But why?_

Then suddenly, salvation came and she was able to release a wracking sob as the agony subsided. As it slipped away from her little by little, she became aware of a feeling of radiating energy, a warm, tingling sensation that slowly spread throughout her body. When it reached her center the feeling of despair thinned and gradually disappeared. As the warm sensation spread down her limbs, she felt them unclench and relax. Gradually she felt as though she had regained possession of herself. Unwillingly, she began to cry.

"Padmé," a loved voice whispered into her ear, and again, "Padmé". When she could speak, she whispered, "I'm all right. I don't know what happened, but I'm all right now." She was back inside her awareness, and knew that Anakin's strong arms were wrapped around her from behind. The tingling feeling seemed to be coming from him. Without moving her, and without releasing the connection between them, he climbed over her curled body to lie down in front of her so that he could look into her face. She still felt the warmth from his hand on her shoulder, and relaxed into it.

"What happened?" His voice sounded harsh.

"I felt as though I was dying," she whispered. "It was like nothing I have ever experienced. There was nothing left at all except darkness and pain."

Anakin remained silent, his hand heavy and comforting on her shoulder. The warmth from it seemed to flow throughout her body. She was now able to stretch and shift a bit so that she could look up into his eyes.

"What do you think happened? Did you … perceive… anything?"

Anakin didn't reply. With her normal awareness returning, Padmé realized that he was deeply worried. Actually, he seemed angry. _Is he angry? Why?_ The silence stretched out longer.

By now she felt almost normal. "How is it," she grumbled with a feeble attempt at humor, "that you can detect poisonous insect life in my bed through walls at thirty paces, but have no idea why I woke up feeling that I had died?" Normally he would have at least smiled. Now he remained impassive.

With a fierce burst of willpower Padmé flexed her arms and legs and managed to sit up, arms curled around her knees for support. Anakin slid his hand off her shoulder and the tingling stopped. She sat still for a moment, waiting to see what would happen. All felt as it should. She looked down at him and said again, "I'm fine." Then, "What do you think it was?"

Anakin looked at her as though he was about to say something, then looked away. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, then went to stand with his back to the window in a posture she had often seen – arms crossed, feet braced; perfectly still, yet somehow ready to spring. The early morning sun slanted into the room behind him, bringing his silhouette into sharp outline but leaving his face in shadow.

"Padmé, were you dreaming? Do you remember any images? Anything at all?"

"No." Padmé rubbed her face with both hands. "I don't remember anything. Only feelings. Loss. Pain. Fear." She stretched her shoulders. "I felt myself slipping away. I couldn't move or do anything about it."

Anakin turned away from her, toward the window and into the morning light. "Loss, " he murmured, reaching out to touch the transparent panel lightly with his fingers. "Pain." Padmé had the feeling he was touching something else – a memory, perhaps. "Fear," he whispered. But that was all he said.

"Well," Padmé pulled herself together. "It's over now." She crawled to the edge of the bed and eased herself off of it and onto her feet. She glanced at Anakin, who hadn't moved. "What are you doing today?"

Again he seemed to be about to say something, but didn't. After a pause, he said only, "I'm leaving in three days. I have a lot of preparation to do."

Three days until the Chancellor's Reception. Three days until the Republic suffered another political blow of some kind. Padmé wasn't the only Senator who had noticed how much Palpatine liked to use these social events to launch the political initiatives that served mostly to consolidate and to extend the powers of his office. By the time it came to a vote in the Senate the groundwork already had been prepared and the bill's passage was a formality. Padmé wondered what he had in store for them this time. What powers, what allocations could he possibly want that he didn't already have? And yet she, like so many of her colleagues, felt powerless to stop him.

In three days her private world, too, would turn over again. Anakin would leave, sent out into the unknown just beyond her grasp, and she would feel more helpless than ever. The events of the last few days had revealed to Padmé just how much he was suffering, and just how impossible his position was. She had tried hard to make things as easy as possible for him by keeping a low profile in the Senate and by withdrawing from the small group of Rebel Senators. All it had brought her was a loss Naboo's former political influence and a feeling of overwhelming impotence. Anakin wasn't any happier, and the Galaxy wasn't any better off.

Padmé hated feeling helpless.

The night Anakin had returned to her from the meeting with Obi-Wan and Bel Iblis Padmé had remained awake until dawn, holding Anakin in her arms when he finally slept, and turning over everything he had told her in her mind. Alone in the dark she had pieced together everything she knew about large and small events since her capture on Naboo.

Alone in the dark on that night, she had endured the shock of learning that it had been Anakin who had killed Dellia's Jedi lover back on Naboo, and had speculated about Dellia's urgent wish to return to Coruscant as her Secretary. And about why the young woman had been searching her office late at night.

Alone in the dark ,Padmé had grieved over Anakin's loss of his mentor, his brother, his _father_, Obi-Wan. All alone she had repented of her own anger at Obi-Wan and mourned her contribution to Anakin's estrangement from the Jedi.

Alone in the dark, she had reviewed every step that Palpatine had taken to effectively cut off her political support in the Senate. Messages from Naboo daily confirmed her worst fears that the military government back home was exerting a powerful influence on the planet's politics and commerce while she became nothing more than a figurehead in the name of the vestigial government of Naboo.

Alone in the dark, Padmé had wondered about the refugees on Corellia and about the power games that Bel Iblis appeared to be playing with Palpatine with… and this was the most surprising development of all … the apparent backing of the Jedi.

All night long Padmé had lain awake thinking. As Anakin shifted and turned restlessly she had shifted and turned with him, molding herself against his body; never letting go. Toward dawn she found her exhausted mind turning again and again to something Anakin had said in passing when he'd described his efforts to rendezvous with her on her return to Coruscant. It was an expression he'd used when describing his search of the Corellian system. "Turning over rocks," he'd said. Was that it? "Turning over rocks to see what scurried out."

The image stayed with her – the image of shining a light into dark places, of forcing things that would prefer to stay hidden into the open.

Anakin had come home that night heavy-hearted, burdened and despairing, and yet had found solace in the light. Her light, he'd said.

_My light._

Turning over rocks.

Near morning Anakin had suddenly turned over in his sleep and wrapped himself around her. With their positions reversed and feeling warmer and safer, Padmé finally had drifted into a light sleep that had been punctuated here and there by images of dark shapes running scrabbling and darting furiously in unaccustomed light. When she awoke, she had known what to do.

Her nights since then hadn't been particularly peaceful. And this time… Padmé shuddered at the memory of her dream, or whatever it had been, and looked speculatively at Anakin. He was still staring out of the window.

Anakin wasn't the only one who had a great deal to prepare.

Three days. That was all she had left.

"I have to leave early," she said, reaching for her robe. "I'm going down to the staff apartment to go over some things with Sabé and Dormé."

Anakin sighed. "Why don't you just tell them to come up here?" His posture said, _"I don't want you to go."_

"This is our home," Padmé said carefully. "I've endured a lot of kicking and screaming from my staff to make sure we have our privacy. I'd hate to give in now."

"True." Anakin smiled out the window. Then all at once, she didn't know how it happened so quickly, Padmé found herself enveloped in a tight, wordless hug that shut out the whole world. It literally became impossible to think. Everything around her disappeared, time stopped, and for that small, silent, eternal moment in time and space the universe became a harmonious and beautiful place.

The feeling stayed with Padmé long after Anakin released her again. Despite her restless nights, despite her terrible dream, Padmé made the preparations to begin her day feeling stronger than she had for some time.

x

"I don't believe it." Dormé circled her best friend and long-time colleague searching for a flaw in her disguise. "You really look like a man. A young man, but still… I don't know how you've done it. I don't think I would recognize you if I didn't know."

Sabé grinned happily and turned around and around in front of the mirror, surveying herself from all angles. "If you think so, then I guess it will do."

The image in the mirror was that of a young man of aristocratic origin from one of the core planets – the ones where current fashions were dictated by the trends that originated from Coruscant rather than by local traditions. The latest wartime aesthetic meant layers of fabric with a vaguely military cut and fairly utilitarian boots. Sabé had used the fashion entirely to her advantage; her body looked less willowy and her feet looked larger.

Dormé continued to study her. "I just don't see why this level of disguise is necessary."

"It's not strictly necessary. I just have to ensure that when I meet with these people, no casual observer could make a connection with Padmé. But I wanted to see how far I could go."

The proximity alarm sounded softly. Both Handmaidens turned toward the door as their visitor let out a surprised gasp and clutched her robe more tightly around her.

"I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor," Padmé murmured, clearly embarrassed.

Sabé grinned broadly and bowed to her with a flourish. "It's my fault entirely, My Lady…"

Padmé stared at her. "I don't believe it."

"That's what I said," Dormé said, stepping close to her mistress. The Senator and the Handmaiden stood side by side with their arms folded, staring at Sabé.

"Don't you think… isn't this overdoing it a little?" Padmé wondered out loud. "I mean, most of the people you will be meeting with know me."

"I'll tell them who I am," Sabé assured her. "I just wanted to make sure that my entrances and exits go unnoticed."

"I'm sure they will," Padmé said in wonder, and then she suddenly laughed. "I wonder what Bail will say? He's so serious about everything. This might throw him off a bit."

"I don't think so." Sabé was obviously enjoying herself. "We have met before, I'm sure he will remember me."

"The question is, will he take you seriously?" Dormé pointed out gently. "This is too important for distractions."

"Trust me," Sabé said, checking that her hair was secured under her complex helmet-like hat. "Once I'm face to face with your colleagues, I will be very persuasive."

"How long will it take you to deliver all the messages?" Padmé was suddenly all business.

"Two days, I think. It's a long list, and there will be a lot to talk about with each one."

Padmé sighed. "That's cutting it close, but it can't be helped. I want everything ready to be announced at the Chancellor's reception."

"It will be." Sabé said firmly. "I won't let you down."

"What are we to tell Dellia about Sabé's absence for two days, My Lady?" Dormé broke in. The Staff normally met each morning to travel to the Senate Delegation offices together. After Anakin's discovery of Dellia's evening escapade in Padmé's Senate office, Padmé's inner circle had closed ranks against her. Captain Typho had arranged to have Dellia followed wherever she went. Sabé and Dormé went out of their way to behave normally while making certain any conversations that took place around Dellia or any materials to which she had access contained no information of a private or sensitive nature.

"I thought of that," Padmé said. "I've already told her that I'm sending you to the other side of Coruscant for supplies that my family have requested."

Both Handmaidens looked at her.

"I thought it was a good idea!" Padmé protested defensively into their polite silence.

"It'll have to do," Sabé said dryly, "but I won't have the time to actually get the items to back up your story…"

"I'll take care of it," Dormé said quickly, and it was as good as done. They were a seamless team. Only…

"I hate to ask this," Sabé ventured, "but does Anakin know what you're doing? I mean… I need to know whether to avoid him, too…"

There was a tiny but noticeable silence.

"For now it would be best if you stayed out of his way," Padmé said at last. "Just until you've met with everyone and we have some idea of the size and commitment of the group."

"Ah."

There was another short silence.

"I'll tell him before the reception. I won't let him go into it unprepared."

"Ah," Sabé said again.

Dormé looked down at the floor.

Padmé cleared her throat. "Has Captain Typho made arrangements for the journey to Corellia? Everything is going to happen pretty fast after the announcement…"

Dormé shot a surreptitious glance at Sabé. "I'll speak with him, My Lady. But I'm sure he has everything well in hand."

"Well, then," Padmé said brightly. "Good luck, Sabé. I'll see you when you return tomorrow night."

"With all due respect My Lady," Sabé said, once again admiring her reflection in the mirror, "I'll trust skill over luck. It will be done."

Over the shoulder of her reflection in the mirror, her eyes met Dormé's and they shared a brief, wise glance.

x

"You! What are you doing here?"

"I'm happy to see you, too, Garm." Senator Bel Iblis' wholly unexpected visitor smiled sweetly.

"Who let you in?"

"Your assistant showed me in. I have an appointment."

"Are you mad?"

The smile vanished. "You might as well offer me a seat, Garm. If you don't, I'll take one anyway. I need to talk to you, and I'm not leaving until I've done so." She sank gracefully into the nearest visitor chair. When he still didn't answer she added, "Calm yourself. I'm here on business. Senate business. We're both Senators, remember?"

"You're either the stupidest woman I know, or the bravest," Bel Iblis scowled. "I never have been able to decide which."

The Senator from the Naboo system tightened her lips and declined to answer. She merely sat quietly opposite, straight-backed, graceful, and stubborn.

"You're alive, anyway. That's something," he conceded gruffly.

"Thank you, Garm."

A silence flowed between them, full of the unspoken understanding of those who shared dangerous secrets. Amidala was the one to break it. She came directly to the point.

"I hear that Corellia has opened her gates to refugees from all sectors in the Galaxy."

"Oh, for the love of…"

"I need something from you. Hear me out." Quickly, succinctly, she outlined a proposal that was as simple as it was audacious. Bel Iblis listened with rising disbelief.

"What good do you think this will do?" he finally managed. It will only serve to attract Palpatine's attention, and to infuriate him. I can't see how it would help our cause…"

Amidala cut him off, her voice pure and sharp. "The _cause_, Garm, is that of the refugees themselves. Structured and carried out as I have presented it to you, this initiative is a civilized humanitarian effort, a living example of democracy at work. Started and supported by members of the Senate, it can become a rallying point for sanity and decency in the Galaxy that has forgotten anything but separatism, suspicion, and war."

Bel Iblis leaned back in his chair. His mind was reeling with the possibilities.

"By all the Gods, woman, you're subtle. But you're playing with fire."

Amidala remained perfectly composed. "I have a history of refugee support, Garm. It's logical for me to make this proposal."

"So it is." Bel Iblis chewed on his lower lip. "You're really the only one who could make it." He glanced up at her shrewdly. "What does your new hubby think of all this?"

Amidala stood up abruptly.

"So I have your support, Garm? You'll give me everything I ask for?"

He let her wait while he thought it all through again. There was more here than met the eye. He needed to talk the implications over with Mon. She was as shrewd as Amidala. What was it with these women?

"When do you need my decision?"

"Right now, Garm. This minute. I need the invitation on my desk by the close of business today and I need Corellia's pledge for funding in my hands by tomorrow latest." She moved closer to lean on his desk with both hands, her face level with his, the look in her eyes steady. Direct. Penetrating. Compelling.

Bel Iblis swallowed. "All right. You will have both. But I don't see how you think you can pull this off in the time available!"

Amidala straightened up, releasing him from her gaze. "It's all right, Garm. My people are almost finished with the arrangements. By tomorrow evening I'll know just how much support we have."

He didn't know whether to laugh or rage. "You just assumed I'd go along with this!"

Amidala's smile returned. "Face it, Garm. Despite all your bluster, you just can't help doing the right thing." Her voice softened. "You're a good man. People count on you for a reason."

_Damned woman, _BelIblis thought, feeling exposed and worried and pleased all at the same time.

"I'll see you at the Reception. You'll of course be part of the Steering Committee since our project will begin with your invitation to Corellia." With one last expressive look at him over her shoulder, Senator Amidala of Naboo left his office, taking the last shreds of his peace of mind with her.

x

It took Garm Bel Iblis that whole day to find a way to consult Mon Mothma in the kind of privacy they needed. In the end he copied Amidala's strategy and decided to hide in plain sight. Pleading a need to discuss a pile of Committee work that overlapped hers, he asked for an evening meeting at one of Coruscant's trendiest restaurants. She was quick to clear her schedule for him.

"Awful place," Bel Iblis muttered under his breath as they were seated by a bizarrely configured droid.

"It has the virtue of being right out in the open," Mon grinned. "Not to mention unbearably noisy."

They asked to be seated side by side, ostensibly to admire the spectacular view of the Senate district from the restaurant's wide-open 'plaza in the sky.'

"It's Amidala," Bel Iblis began quietly. "The damnable woman somehow convinced me to sell my soul to her this morning. Not to mention the future of my Star System."

Mon smiled faintly. "I think I know what you're referring to. I was approached by one of her trusted associates."

"Well?" Bel Iblis growled impatiently. "What do you think?"

"The Chandrilla system has pledged substantial funds in support of the new Senate Refugee Outreach Alliance."

"So has the Corellia System," Bel Iblis snapped. "We've also agreed to invite the Alliance to begin its work in our system, although the Gods only know why. I asked, what do you _think?_"

Mon was about to speak when the droid reappeared to take their orders. Instead she waited until they were alone again. Bel Iblis scowled the whole time. Just when he thought he would explode with impatience the background music changed and became louder, if that was possible, and Mon leaned closer to his ear.

"I think she's a genius," she said.

Bel Iblis looked at her blankly. "I think she's a troublemaker who is forcing us into action," he growled. "What I can't figure out is _why?_ What's in it for her?"

"Think about it, Garm." Mon lifted her arm as though she was pointing at one of the sights beyond the precipice at the edge of the restaurant's vast plaza. "Look how my arm fits into this sleeve."

Bel Iblis just stared at her.

"The sleeve is my outer garment. It's not only the face I present to the world, but it is quite useful in itself. It keeps me warm, provides protection from the elements …"

"So?"

"Look how perfectly my arm slips inside of this sleeve. You can't really see it, but it's the thing that directs and guides the sleeve. It determines where the sleeve goes and what it will do. Don't you see? Padmé has created the garment – the cover, if you will – that will allow us to spread our efforts throughout the Galaxy much faster and more efficiently than we could have otherwise. Wherever we go, there will be refugees – refuges who have suffered from the war and from repression and who will be willing to work toward a brighter future for themselves and for their cultures. Refugees who can be organized, and if necessary, armed. We'll have a network of influence that eventually will spread throughout the Galaxy. Think what we could do with it!"

Bel Iblis rubbed his nose and sighed, staring out at the lights beyond the plaza.

"I don't understand why she would do this. She quit our group. When I mentioned that husband of hers…"

The serving droid reappeared with a tray of drinks and several dishes of food. Bel Iblis' mouth snapped shut until the thing was well away again.

"… she ignored me and changed the subject. I ask myself, what's behind all of this? All she's going to do in the short run is create a big political drama and guarantee problems for a lot of people, including the Jedi."

Mon sipped her drink cautiously, found it good, and sipped again. "I don't know, Garm. There are a lot of things we don't know about her life and her motivations right now. But frankly, I don't think it matters. I'll take the opportunity that's given. With one stroke, she's forcing a great many people to take action one way or another." She raised her glass to him and added soberly, "including us."

"Including Palpatine," Bel Iblis muttered gloomily, taking up his glass as well.

"Our esteemed Supreme Chancellor is always taking action, Garm. He never stops. It's about time we did, too."

Bel Iblis sighed. "I don't know, Mon. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Cheer up, Garm. If Amidala has her way, in a few days' time you'll be back on Corellia with your family leading a glorious humanitarian effort in the bright glare of the Holonet news. It'll take even Palpatine a while to figure out a way to discredit our efforts. Until then… who knows? Anything could happen."

"I hate optimists," Bel Iblis proclaimed gloomily, and downed the contents of his glass in one gulp.


	16. Chapter 15 Prelude

**Chapter 15. Prelude**

From the moment he'd tossed his comm. link demonstratively over the side of Padmé's balcony, Anakin had felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

The trouble with feeling more like himself was that Anakin had become as edgy as a caged nexxu.

It was widely known that in confinement, a nexxu's claws soon gouged deep scars it the floor of its prison from its ceaseless pacing, while it drove its minders mad with its furious yowling. While Anakin had the self-control not to yowl, his restless presence had seemed to make the air around him crackle. He had paced even more than usual, and on the rare occasions when he was still, he brooded. In short order he had managed to get on everyone's nerves, including his own. Sabé had snapped at him more than once. Dormé had stayed as far away from him as possible. Padmé merely had sighed. Often.

Anakin had, sensibly enough, replaced the 'lost' comm. link with a new one, which he occasionally took out to stare at with deep suspicion and exceptional ill will. But it had remained entirely silent until the morning of Padmé's frightening dream.

Padmé's dream had changed a great many things.

Anakin had experience with dreams.

_If it was a dream._

He had soothed her, and listened her. He had searched his own perceptions, and then he had searched the Force for clues to the origins and meaning of the dream and the feelings that had disturbed her so much that she had needed a powerful healing to recover.

All he had found were open questions and black suspicions.

That had been enough to do away with the caged nexxu once and for all. In its place was something dark, and quiet, and very, very deep – something that ran as deep and as cold as an ancient glacial stream in an icy, long-forgotten crevasse somewhere.

Quiet and cold.

When the new comm. unit finally signaled, Anakin was far into in a meditation that had given him no difficulty at all. He had sunk so deeply into the Force that only a tiny part of his mind heard the signal. That same part of his mind let the sound go again. In time, the signal ceased.

When he was ready – when _he_ was ready – Anakin picked up the hated object and stared at it for a while. Then with a casual flick of his thumb he sent a signal of his own. It was answered immediately.

_"Anakin? Where were you?" _While the Supreme Chancellor's voice betrayed no emotion, the question was one he'd never had to ask before.

"I was meditating."

Pause. _"I see." _Pause. _"I need to see you. Please be in my office within the hour."_

Pause. "As you wish."

Flick. His thumb disengaged the device. _His_ thumb.

Hands clasped behind his back, Anakin stood where he was with his eyes closed. He wasn't meditating. He wasn't even thinking about anything in particular. Perhaps he was listening to something. Perhaps he heard the quiet sound of a deep, cold stream somewhere far away.

Or perhaps he was just waiting for the time when he might feel inclined to move. Either way, it would be _his_ decision.

Who would have imagined that rage could run so cold?

x

"This one," Padmé decided. "And this one." She passed another disc to Dellia. "These two as well." Two more discs changed hands. "Those are the bills and discussions I particularly want tracked and documented while we're away. The rest is fairly routine. Can you handle that?"

"Of course." Dellia frowned. "_We,_ My lady? Who is going with you?"

"Well, Sabé and Dormé. Captain Typho, of course." Padmé smiled at her. "You'll be in charge of the Delegation offices until our return. Is that all right?" Padmé rummaged on her desk for a datasheet and handed it to Dellia. It was an itinerary, and a list of the names of those who would accompany Padmé on her fact-finding mission.

"Yes, My Lady." Dellia didn't return Padmé's smile. It seemed too bright, too artificial. She still wasn't quite sure what was going on. She'd heard nothing about a planned trip to the Corellia system. No documentation or invitations had crossed her desk; she had heard no discussions. She hadn't been involved in the planning. And now suddenly the itinerary for a tour of refugee facilities in the Corellia system was in her hand and she found that she had been left behind _again_. Her name did not appear on the list of Padmé's entourage, and now she was being given more administrative duties here on Coruscant.

It seemed everyone who regularly took the morning shuttle to the Senate offices would be going with Padmé, leaving Dellia entirely on her own. Except… _oh._

"Is Anakin going with you?" Dellia asked, trying hard not to sound uneasy.

There was a tiny moment when Padmé seemed to freeze, but only a tiny one. "No," Padmé said evenly. Then, "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering whether … whether I'll be the only one taking the shuttle in the morning while you're away."

Again, Dellia thought she noticed a pause before Padmé's answered. "I don't know."

Dellia found herself wondering whether that was true.

"I know," Padmé said brightly. "Why don't you just order a private speeder service to take you to and from the office every day? It will give you more flexibility, and Anakin can take care of himself."

_He _is_ going somewhere_, Dellia thought. _She just doesn't want to tell me. _It was a relief to think that she wouldn't be riding with him every day, but it was also an empty, lonely feeling to think that she would be entirely on her own. Coruscant was such an unimaginably big place. And Naboo seemed so far away.

"Very well, My Lady." Dellia glanced down at he itinerary in her hand again. "It doesn't say how long you will be away. The last entry reads… 'and other points to be decided en route'…"

Padmé shrugged. "That's the nature of a fact-finding mission. We won't know what we need to see until we're there." She must have seen something in Dellia's face, because she added quickly, "Don't worry. I can't afford to be away from the Senate for more than two weeks at most, and I might be back sooner than that. In any case, we'll be in touch daily."

"Of course." Dellia swallowed and tried to shake off the feeling that she was being abandoned. "Don't worry about a thing."

"It's good to know I can count on you, Dellia." Padmé looked straight into her eyes, and Dellia's stomach lurched a little bit. "You know how much I value loyalty in my staff."

Dellia's stomach twisted a little more, giving her a very bad feeling indeed.

x

"Just when did you turn over this new leaf and decide that obedience to the Council is optional for a Jedi Knight?" Mace Windu growled.

"When the Council began to act like a political tool of Chancellor Palpatine's, I expect," Obi-Wan panted as he delivered a twisting thrust of hissing light straight into his partner's throat….

…which no longer was there, of course. V'ar had managed instantly to be somewhere else, although her own blade was all at once… HERE!… _Oh, blast_… "Nice one!" Obi-Wan crowed after a very quick evasive maneuver. "Where did you learn that?"

"From your former apprentice, actually." V'ar's disembodied voice was difficult to locate. That meant… AHA!" Two lightsabers slammed together with a piercing shriek and a lightning flare that momentarily illuminated Mace Windu's face in the shadows at the side of the training room. He did not look amused.

"Enough!" Mace raised his voice very, very slightly. The effect was like a thunderclap. Both sweating Jedi Knights ceased their circling and disengaged their weapons.

Obi-Wan smiled at V'ar. "That was fun!"

V'ar's silent pleasure at the complement filled the spacious room, yet she was much quicker to give Mace her full attention. "Master Windu?" She bowed gracefully, eliciting a nod from the stony Jedi Master.

"I hope your good manners rub off on your partner, young V'ar."

"I don't see any reason why I should go, Mace." Obi-Wan picked up the thread of their last conversation as he stepped past his disapproving superior to get to the towel he'd left at the side of the training room. He was stopped by a strong grip on his arm.

"You name is on the invitation." Mace pointed out.

"See there? Since when has the Office of the Chancellor been allowed to dictate which members of our Order ought to attend a function?"

"Since your name appeared on this invitation and the Council decided that you should go."

Obi-Wan remained in Mace's grip with sweat running down his face. "Isn't that a bit odd?"

"Of course it is." Mace still wouldn't let him go. V'ar slipped by them and helped herself to her towel. Obi-Wan could have sworn she was stifling a smile. "That's why you're going. To find out why he wants you there."

"I hate these things."

"You hate Gundarks, too. But I've never seen you argue about a mission that involved them. In fact, I've never heard you argue with an order at all."

Obi-Wan shook his head, spraying droplets of sweat in the process, and tried to look as contrite as possible. "It just goes to show that I'm a very poor example of a Jedi Knight, and should never be allowed to represent the Order at Senate Receptions."

"Bah." Mace let go of Obi-Wan's arm. "Bel Iblis contacted us to make certain you'll be there."

"Why?" Obi-Wan was suddenly interested.

"He didn't say. But he implied that something of interest to the group you are assisting will take place."

V'ar reappeared by his side, looking fresher and quite serene. "May I be excused, Master Windu? I should go get ready."

Mace nodded, and she vanished.

"Get ready for what?" Obi-Wan looked toward the door that she'd disappeared through and then back at Mace. "Where is _she_ going?"

"To the Reception, of course. You didn't think we'd send you alone, did you? Especially since you're such a poor example of a Jedi Knight."

"You didn't say."

"You didn't ask."

"Who else will attend?" Obi-Wan didn't have to pretend to look contrite this time.

"I will," Mace said composedly. "Master Yoda. Master Koon. And one or two others, perhaps."

"Quite a representation. All invited by name?"

"No." Mace's smile was sudden and unexpected. "Not at all. But then, we quite like to make our own decisions about these things."

Obi-Wan shook his head and finally fetched his towel.

"Well?" Master Windu asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Bring on the Gundarks," Obi-Wan muttered into the towel's soft folds.

x

"Ah, Anakin." Supreme Chancellor Palpatine leaned back in his capacious chair and regarded his visitor closely. "Have a seat."

"No, thank you." It was a ritual exchange between them. Anakin rarely sat in his presence. He either stood quietly, a little hunched with the tension of remaining still, or he prowled.

It appeared today was a prowling day.

"Are all your preparations for the journey complete?"

"Of course."

"When do you depart?"

"Tonight. After the reception." Anakin sent him a sideways glance. It looked faintly hopeful. "Unless you no longer need me to attend, that is. I could leave earlier…"

"I do require your presence at the reception tonight, Anakin. In fact, I expect you to remain by my side throughout the evening. I intend to put you in the spotlight. By the end of the evening I want everyone in the Senate …" he paused for emphasis, "…and the Jedi … to understand the important role that you play in my administration."

The hopeful light in Anakin's eyes went out. All he said was, "That will make going undercover a lot harder."

"You will have to find a way, Anakin. Those are your skills, are they not?"

"I hope so."

Palpatine allowed himself an impatient frown. "It is not necessary to be modest with me."

True, the timing of Anakin's presentation to the Senate was perhaps not the best, but that couldn't be helped. The boy would just have to learn to play the many roles that were required of him. Tonight he would be placed on display. After that, he could disappear. In fact, he had better not be seen anywhere near the Corellia system after tonight.

He turned the conversation back to Anakin's impending mission. "I understand that your old friends on the _Victorious_ are providing your transport to the borders of the Corellia system."

Anakin made a small, derisive sound. "The _Victorious_ was merely the nearest large ship."

Palpatine smiled faintly. "You're right, of course, Anakin. I spoke out of turn. One doesn't befriend those whom one commands."

Anakin shrugged. "This time I'll be a passenger, and only for a short time."

Palpatine leaned forward. "That kind of thinking is a grave mistake, my young friend. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you must understand that you go as my personal representative, and therefore you are always in command in my absence. Remember that."

Anakin stopped prowling. The tension within him increased noticeably. Palpatine regarded him with interest.

"You may find, Anakin, that command is a matter of attitude. Authority is an active exercise of power, not a passive attribute."

"I've done everything you have asked so far, haven't I? Have I let you down in any way?"

_So far? _That was an interesting choice of words. There was clearly something on Anakin's mind. It was there in his movements, in his expression; it clung to him like a faint film of sweat.

"Far from it, Anakin. I have been quite happy with your work." _His work, yes. Not his progress._

The prowling resumed. "Then I have kept up my side of our bargain."

Palpatine leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. So this was what Anakin really wanted to talk about. Their bargain. "Yes, Anakin, you have." His voice sharpened ever so slightly. "As have I."

Anakin stopped in front of Palpatine's desk, feet balanced, hands ready by his sides – the instinctive stance of a warrior. What had happened to make Anakin want to re-test the boundaries of their bond?

The warrior drew in a quiet breath that drew the Force to him the way smoke fills a vacuum. "Yes, you have," he agreed. "So far."

_So far._ There it was again. Palpatine lightly touched the tips of his steepled forefingers to his lips. He studied Anakin unhurriedly. Made his assessment. Made his decision.

"What's troubling you, Anakin? What are you afraid of?"

The warrior's hands clenched, and Anakin said, "My concern, as always, is for my … wife."

"What had he been about to say? "Family,' perhaps? Palpatine stared into the warrior's eyes. To his credit, Anakin didn't look away, however much he must have wanted to.

Not many could withstand that stare.

"I want your promise that Padmé will be left completely in peace in my absence." Anakin's gaze didn't waver.

"Why?" Palpatine snapped. "Has she done something untoward?"

"No!" Anakin protested. "_She_ has not."

_He's accusing me of something! _Palpatine thought. That was quite … remarkable. So bold. It was such a pity that boldness was being wasted …

"Promise me," Anakin insisted. "Promise me that she will remain untouched in any way."

This was becoming more and more interesting. There were so many possible responses to this plea – some far more personally satisfying than others. It would have been most enjoyable, for example, to counter with the query, _"…and if I don't?"_ But the element of uncertainty in the exchange dictated what he must say next – for truly, at this moment, Palpatine did not know what Anakin was hinting at.

With Anakin it always was best not to probe and push for immediate answers; he performed much better at the end of a long, long rope. Therefore a carefully considered response was essential.

"Do your part, Anakin – get the information that I need and make sure that no one connects it back to me – and I will keep my part of our bargain." He infused his voice with just the right timbre of feeling. "I swear it."

The warrior relaxed just enough so that Palpatine could see that his words had served their purpose.

_For now._

He really would have to keep a close eye on the Senator from Naboo in Anakin's absence.

He had promised, after all.

x

Padmé struggled not to laugh out loud when Anakin looked down at himself dubiously, surveying his new suit of clothes with suspicion. He looked absolutely magnificent in a formal ensemble that could only be described as subdued elegance, but she was certain that he hated what he was wearing. Sure enough, when he looked up into the mirror, the face that was reflected back from it looked sulky and stubborn.

"I don't suppose it will help to tell you how utterly handsome you look?"

"This is such a waste of time. I'll just have to come back here and change before I leave."

"Handsome and irresistible?"

"The belt's not right. I can't clip my lightsaber to it."

"So irresistible that I can barely keep my hands off you?"

"And this is a pretty poor excuse for a cloak … wait, what?"

Padmé smiled. "I was just checking to see whether I had your attention."

"You have it now!" Anakin's bad temper miraculously had disappeared, and had been replaced by a look she'd seen often before – a look that guaranteed dishevelment if it was allowed to continue. It was sorely tempting, but it had taken her so long to dress and have her hair done…

"Too late," she said quickly, backing away while trying not to trip over the train of her elaborate gown. "We have to go soon. You, especially, have to be on time."

Anakin's scowl returned.

"What a waste of time," he sulked again. "All I want is to spend my last few hours here with you."

"So do I." Padmé looked at him longingly. From this point on their future would be played out one move at a time. Only at the moment, Anakin still didn't know what she was planning. A wave of guilt washed over her. She had let it go too long. "Anakin, there is something I need to talk to you about before we go to the reception …"

"Are you ready?" A cheerful voice interrupted her, and Sabé popped her head through the door. "By the Gods, Anakin! You look exceptionally pretty!"

Anakin brandished the hilt of his lightsaber at her, presumably because he hadn't yet found a place in his new costume to stow it.

"Not now, Sabé," Padmé said quickly.

"Oops! Sorry." Sabé vanished.

Anakin turned his clear blue eyes to Padmé's, and in them she saw the understanding that something was being plotted that Sabé knew about and he didn't. During his time with Padmé and her inner circle Anakin had become remarkably adept at divining when something was afoot. Presumably the only reason he hadn't learned about her enormous project was that he had been so busy for the last few days.

"What is it?"

Padmé's mouth suddenly went dry. What if he didn't understand what she was trying to do?

"You remember the other day when we talked about going away together…"

The look in Anakin's eyes became suddenly cautious.

"… and we agreed that it would take more thinking and planning …"

Cautious and watchful.

" … well, I had an idea that I think will work for both of us…"

Suspicion dawned.

"… but I had to act quickly to get the timing right…"

Anakin crossed his arms and frowned. But he listened.

"… and so I went ahead and started something that already has been set into motion…"

Anakin stared at her.

"… and it's all going to come together at the reception tonight… it's a surprise announcement… Anakin?"

All of a sudden he wasn't looking at her any longer. He was looking down at his feet.

"Anakin, I need you to trust me."

She could no longer see his eyes.

"Anakin?"

"Let me guess," he said quietly. "The reason you hesitated to tell me is that it's something that is risky for both of us, it involves Chancellor Palpatine, and you knew that I would never have allowed it to go forward."

"I wanted to protect you, Anakin. I wanted to make sure that you weren't involved in any part of what I was planning. That not even a… a. _mind reader_ could find any knowledge of this in you." In a much smaller voice she added, "you said it sometimes feels as though he can read your mind."

Anakin glanced up at her. Suddenly he looked terribly weary.

"You'd better tell me what you've done."

She did, while Anakin stood before her with his arms crossed, looking down at the floor, and listened to everything she said. But the slight hunch in his shoulders showed how tense he was. That and the shadows on what she could see of his face.

When she was finished he kept quiet for a long time.

"This is our chance, Anakin. It's a real chance for us. We may not get another one." Padmé looked down at the skillfully designed gown that skimmed her figure in just the right places to make a smooth line. "I'm starting to show, Anakin. It's going to go fast now. Soon I won't be able to do the things I can do now."

Anakin rubbed one hand over his face in a gesture that made her heart turn over. She had expected him to rage, at least. To argue with her. To deliver an ultimatum or two for good measure. But this withdrawal, this quiet gloom was more painful than anything she had imagined.

"It's a good plan, Anakin. It's risky, but so is doing nothing."

"I didn't think we were doing nothing, Padmé," he said finally. "I thought we were doing whatever we had to do."

Padmé felt the sting of sudden tears, but refused to let them fall. "We're trapped, Anakin. We're trapped and there's never going to be a way out that we don't create for ourselves. I can't bear to see you like this any longer."

Anakin shook his head. "There are so many ways this could go wrong, Padmé."

"Of course there are! When has that ever stopped you before?"

"You should have told me what you were planning." Anakin's voice was dull and flat. Padmé wished he would shout, or rage, or do anything other than stand there looking defeated.

"Come away with me, Anakin," she begged.

"I think you've pretty much set things up so that I have no choice." Anakin's mouth was a grim line.

"Good! It's about time!" Fear made her fierce – the sudden, wrenching fear that if she held out her hand to him right now, he wouldn't reach out to grasp it. "Anakin, you once told me that you would never stop looking for a way out. But I think you have stopped looking. So I found a way for us both." Fighting her fear, Padmé held out her hand, willing it not to tremble. "We have to make a move now. Any later will be too late for both of us."

Anakin's arms were tightly crossed in front of his chest. For the longest moment of Padmé's life he just looked at the hand she desperately held out to him, while Padmé wondered despairingly whether he was hesitating out of fear, or because in her eagerness to save him she had pressed him into a choice that would cost her everything she loved.

_No!_ Padmé pushed that thought away. She had to keep her faith in him at all costs. The Anakin she knew and loved would not abandon her. Not now. Not ever.

"Please, Anakin."

An eternity passed. Padmé's outstretched hand began to tremble.

All at once Anakin was holding her hand tightly in his own, and she let out a sob of relief. Slowly he pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms. Trembling, Padmé slumped into his embrace.

"Oh, Padmé," Anakin whispered into her hair. "What have you done?"

"You're mine," she whispered back. "Not his. Mine."

They stood together, holding one another, just breathing, until Sabé returned with the unwelcome reminder that it was time to go.


	17. Chapter 16 Command Performance

**Chapter 16. Command Performance**

The exterior walls of the Senate building were so artfully lit that the building almost appeared to be illuminated from the inside. The lights and shadows that played on the structure's rigid curvature gave it the softer look of something organic. It reminded V'ar somewhat disturbingly of the kexis pods on one of the more hostile Rexian moons that glowed eerily just before they released their poison. She glanced at her companion, wondering whether he saw it the same way, but Obi-Wan's composure was impenetrable.

V'ar turned her full attention back to the controls of the speeder. The huge landing platform below them already was teeming with vehicles. She circled once more, and then chose a space near the far edge, as far away from the building's entrance as she could get.

"That's a quite a trek across the landing platform," Obi-Wan commented when they had landed. "We wouldn't be postponing our arrival as much as possible, now, would we?"

"I try hard to follow the example of my elders and betters," V'ar countered sweetly.

"Think of it as a hostile environment on an alien planet, and you'll be fine." He was serious.

So he _had_ been thinking along the same lines.

"I do," she admitted. "That's what makes it so difficult. This place is meant to be the heart and soul of everything we serve."

"We were born into troubled times, young V'ar. It is our destiny to deal with what is before us."

V'ar sighed and bit back a teasing comment about having to be being pushed into one's destiny by certain intractable members of the Jedi Council. Obi-Wan was all business now, and she must follow his lead.

The two Jedi covered the distance to the Senate building in watchful silence. The others would arrive separately, if they hadn't already. They had been ordered to disperse throughout the Reception rather than arriving and attending as a group. The more eyes and ears in more places, the better.

Hostile planet, indeed.

Inside the enormous building, well-lit corridors marked the way. Only the Senate Chamber itself was large enough to hold the full complement of Senators and their aides; this reception was meant to be a social occasion and would most likely be held one of the large event rooms. Still, the streams of people moving toward the heart of the building made V'ar wonder. Surely not all of the Republic's representatives would be present?

She glanced at Obi-Wan again, seeking his guidance. He still appeared to be looking straight ahead, but it was apparent to V'ar that his awareness stretched far and wide. He had gone to work, in other words. And so should she.

Carefully keeping her shielding intact, V'ar opened herself to the Force. In that crowded place, swarming with energies and thoughts and emotions, it was like trying to keep one's feet while being inundated by a tidal wave. _Steady_! she told herself sternly, and brought all of her training to bear. The sense of being overwhelmed passed, and everything around her began to shine with clarity and meaning. Amorphous movements in the Force separated into lucid strands. Received emotions touched her awareness clearly and distinctly, but then passed by without clinging. Complex energy patterns took on shape and meaning without distorting her ability to discern among them. Hidden patterns and relationships revealed themselves. The unfamiliar became familiar once she _observed_ where and how it fit into the whole.

"Anakin is here," she said quietly.

"I know. I sensed his presence."

_Of course he did_, V'ar realized sheepishly. _Probably long before I did._

Their path opened to a vast foyer on one of the highest levels of the Senate building. On one side a wall of windows overlooked the vista of Coruscant at night. On the other, a row of huge doors opened to a series of interlinked rooms. The steady stream of beings, of which Obi-Wan and V'ar formed part, slowed as it entered the space and began to circle and eddy. Groups formed and then broke up again as the secondary movement into the interior rooms began.

The effect was both dazzling and disturbing. Gorgeously dressed beings from an unimaginable variety of planets and star systems mingled and talked, but the drab gray uniforms of the Republic Army officers appeared everywhere, among them quite a few high-ranking Military Governors. An army of server droids moved among the crowds serving jewel-like drinks of all kinds, most of which V'ar couldn't identify. Despite the acoustic dampeners the huge space rumbled with a dazzling assortment of voices and all different varieties of laughter.

V'ar found the laughter disturbing. It rang false. She decided that much of it must be a nervous response, because running beneath the entire tableau was a current of anxiety strong enough to stifle any true enjoyment. It touched everyone. The Senate representatives of the star systems of the Republic, the leaders of the Galaxy who determined its security and prosperity with every decision they made, were steeped in fear.

"It's time to separate," Obi-Wan murmured.

"I'll go inside," V'ar offered instantly. She already had an idea where she wanted to position herself. Obi-Wan must have understood, because she thought she saw a flicker of relief in his eyes.

"As you wish," he agreed, just as quickly, and somehow faded into the crowd in the foyer. V'ar, too, concentrated on becoming as unnoticeable as possible and slipped into the reception rooms ahead of others who hardly knew she was there.

x

"That looks poisonous."

"What?" Mon flinched, almost spilling the greenish beverage in her hand in the process. Someone reached out to steady her arm, and she was relieved to see that it was Bail.

"Your drink."

"Oh, that! You're right." She held her glass up to light. Its contents looked even less appetizing from that angle. "I don't know why I accepted it. I suppose I was tired of milling around empty-handed."

"Have you been through the receiving line yet?"

"Is that what it is? I thought it was just a virtuoso bit of stagecraft." She looked over at the far side of the crowded room, where an animated, ever-moving throng circled a small group of dignitaries whose location was singled out by special lighting effects. Even more dramatically, the spotlighting effects had been designed to remain with that one group wherever it moved in the room. The effect was that of a lit stage in a dim theater; it was impossible not to know where the Supreme Chancellor stood at all times. And with whom.

"No, I haven't made my obeisance yet. It's almost impossible to get through the crowds of …" Mon stopped herself from using any further sarcasm that she couldn't afford to have overheard … "of people who wish to speak with the Supreme Chancellor."

Bail's eyes glinted in his formal-but-diplomatic face. Mon knew that expression well; it made people trust Bail in spite of themselves, even in the middle of a severe difference of opinion.

She wondered whether she would ever master his technique.

"I think it would be well worth your while. He's making a special show of presenting his new… ah… right-hand man."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know what to call him. I don't know whether he has a title. The Supreme Chancellor is introducing this man to everyone as his 'personal representative.'"

"His _what_? What does that mean? Who is he?"

Bail merely raised his eyebrows.

"Bail?"

"I've been chatting with some of the military people. Apparently, wherever he goes, the Chancellor's 'personal representative' automatically outranks any officer up to and including the Captain of a Star Destroyer."

"How is that possible? Bail, who _is_…"

_Oh, no! _

"Padmé's…?" Mon's voice trailed away.

Bail nodded. "I suggest you allow yourself to be introduced. It's an interesting experience. Better yet, try to maneuver it so that you're nearby when a Jedi runs that gauntlet."

"I'm afraid to ask why." Mon's eyes locked with Bail's for a long moment. "This man is a _former_ Jedi, you said?"

"Yes."

Mon didn't reply.

"I'm going to make sure our Holonet News crew made it here." Bail touched her arm lightly in farewell. "It took quite a bit of doing to get them admitted at all."

Mon wondered just how Bail had managed to get the presence of a Holonet crew approved. Media censorship being what it was, it was difficult to imagine any news feed being broadcast without the express permission of Palpatine's office.

"I'll see you later." Mon turned her gaze back to the spotlighted group at the far end of the room and began to make her way toward it.

x

There was something about this evening's event that Obi-Wan found disturbing.

It wasn't merely his long-standing aversion to the combination of ostentatious display and petty gossip, or even the likelihood that he would be pushed into another encounter with Anakin. His personal preferences were irrelevant, an impediment to doing the job. He had put them away.

It wasn't that certain quality of darkness that always seemed to surround the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. He was prepared for that.

It wasn't even the fact that the apprehension he sensed in those around him made that darkness even deeper and more potent. That was to be expected.

There was something else that bothered Obi-Wan, something that he couldn't yet pinpoint.

Something elusive.

He kept moving, methodically winding his way through the crowds in the foyer and corridor. Observing. Listening. Feeling. Amid the gossiping crowds he was a light-footed, quiet presence that attracted little or no attention. In the Force he was an even lighter presence – buoyant, fluid and aware. Satisfied that there was nothing out of place, he followed the crowds of new arrivals into the main reception room.

The oppressive feeling of disturbance was stronger here, but he still couldn't pin it down to one person or location. In fact, it seemed to undulate through the glittering space, following the movements of the streams of guests.

"General Kenobi! There you are!" A voice that was accustomed to calling for order in the Senate intruded on Obi-Wan's inner quiet, and suddenly the people all around him seemed to become aware of his presence. The towering horns of the Vice Chancellor of the Republic bore down on him through the crowd. Obi-Wan bowed to Mas Amedda, and before long he and the Chagrian Vice Chancellor stood within own space of their own, surrounded by openly curious faces.

Curious and… suspicious.

"The Supreme Chancellor has been asking for you, General."

Obi-Wan bowed again. "I have just arrived."

"He will be pleased to greet you. If you will please follow me?"

Serenely Obi-Wan followed his guide into one of the crowded inner rooms, giving no indication that he registered every one of the intense, curious whispers that swirled around him as he passed.

_"That's the Jedi …"_

_"…Outer Rim sieges…"_

_"Jedi…"_

_"…witch hunt …prolonging the war…"_

_"…the Jedi Order ..."_

In the time it took him to reach the far side of the receiving room in the highly visible wake of the Vice Chancellor of the Republic, Obi-Wan understood the nature of the disturbance that he had been bothering him since he arrived.

It was suspicion and mistrust, pure and simple – specifically, suspicion and mistrust of the Jedi.

He hadn't been able to pinpoint its origin because it emanated from the hearts and minds of everyone around him. Negative attitudes and beliefs seeped into the Force and took on a form and substance of their own, forming barriers to reason and obscuring the clear light of truth.

When used skillfully, mistrust was an extraordinarily effective weapon. It appeared that in this case a master of the art of misinformation and manipulation was wielding it. In fact, Obi-Wan began to suspect that a primary purpose of this evening's occasion was to stir up even more suspicion of the Jedi Order. Obi-Wan let his fingers brush the hilt of his lightsaber. For once, its presence was not reassuring. No mere physical weapon, however elegant, could defend against fear and prejudice.

"Ah, General Kenobi!" the Supreme Chancellor's cultured voice called out. "We were just discussing the Outer Rim sieges. You have seen a great deal of combat. Perhaps you can give us some insight as to why the Separatists are proving so difficult to defeat. "

The group of dignitaries in the pool of light dazzled with color. The Supreme Chancellor's long coat glowed red. Stepping into the pool of light, Amedda became a vivid blue tower. The Senators who stood within the lighted circle looked like royalty; by contrast, the crowds in the more dimly lit portions of the room looked drab, despite their finery. Obi-Wan noticed how his own pale, plain robes suddenly gleamed like white silk as he, too stepped into the Supreme Chancellor's artfully designed personal circle. Anakin was there, of course; a relatively subdued presence robed mostly in black.

As he stepped forward to play his part in this command performance, Obi-Wan allowed himself one look – a single lingering look – into Anakin's face. It was as still and closed as his presence in the Force. His eyes revealed nothing. He had retreated somewhere far inside of himself. But even Anakin couldn't prevent the ornamental braid on his cloak from glittering like jewels, or his hair from shining like a golden cloud in those stage lights. V'ar's words, '_he doesn't want to be there!_' rang out in his mind, and Obi-Wan felt an unexpectedleap of sympathy.

_If that is true, Anakin, then I share your plight, _he thought sadly. _It seems that at the moment, we're both no more than unwilling actors in Palpatine's play._

_x _

Squashed between a massive Arkanian and a cluster of heavyset Gran, the Senator from the Chandrila system, who normally thought of herself as tall and slender, was feeling neither tall enough nor slender enough. She was desperate to see over the growing crowd of onlookers to the animated debate that was taking place under the bright lights of the Chancellor's calculated display. The ostentatious setting was bad enough, but the discussion, which clearly had been staged for all to see, was insufferable. A lone Jedi was being taken to task for the failures of the Republic Army to end the war quickly and decisively.

It wasn't just any Jedi – it was Kenobi, the respected General. The one who secretly was assisting their dissident circle. It was obviously a setup because, whatever his other skills, the man was seriously outclassed when it came to this kind of debate.

Palpatine spoke with a kind of oily expressiveness that made Kenobi's quiet reasoning sound bloodless and insipid by contrast. Using innuendo and open questions rather than facts and statistics, the Supreme Chancellor wove a series of images and inferences that left little opportunity for rebuttal. The appropriate countermove for that technique was to resort to a completely different style of argument, using personal experiences and emotional examples to add power to his rhetoric. For whatever reason, Kenobi didn't go down that path, so in contrast to Palatine's emotion-arousing words, the Jedi's calm logic sounded weak and almost defensive.

Of course that was what Palpatine intended.

Wildly frustrated, Mon longed to enter the debate. _Come on, Kenobi, think of this as combat! You have to adapt to his style to win! _The impulse to join in finally carried her forward, past her large neighbors and very close to the front of the ring of onlookers that had formed around the "performers," where she had a much better view of the tableau.

"Ah, yes," Palpatine was saying, with just the right tinge of incredulousness in his voice, "I am familiar with the Jedi belief that the Separatist side of this horrific conflict is influenced by some kind of a dark, powerful being …" here he smiled and shook his head slightly. "What do you call this creature again? The 'Sith'?"

"We are well aware that a powerful Sith Lord is exercising his influence in the Galaxy, Your Excellency. As are you, from our many briefings."

"Yes, well." Palpatine smiled beatifically. "Of course I respect the beliefs of such an _ancient _Order as the Jedi. Still, the Senate remains justifiably concerned about the amount of time and resources that have been… diverted… from the war effort to search for this… ah… legendary creature."

"The Sith Lord is no myth, Your Excellency," Kenobi said implacably. "Nor should his power be underestimated."

Palpatine looked somber. "You... fear… this alleged power, General Kenobi? It is commonly believed that the Jedi fear nothing."

In the distinct pause that followed, Mon's attention was drawn to the man dressed in black who stood at Palpatine's right. While the others in the circle of debate looked interested, and even eager, he stood by Palpatine's side as still and remote as one of the statues in the foyer outside. This must be that famous husband of Padmé's – Mon knew all the others who surrounded Palpatine.

She studied him, but couldn't form a real picture of the person. How had Bail referred to him? As Palpatine's 'personal assistant'? The Vice Chancellor behaved like an assistant. This man didn't, somehow. He stood in Palpatine's chosen circle, in the position of honor, and yet in his body language and expression he seemed unengaged with the proceedings. In fact, he didn't seem to be watching the debaters at all – from what Mon could tell in that tricky lighting, he was staring off into the distance somewhere.

"The Jedi do not fear for ourselves, your Excellency," Kenobi said firmly. "We serve the Senate and the Republic to the best of our abilities, and that means recognizing and understanding fully the dangers they face."

_Not good, Kenobi,_ Mon worried. _He's got you sounding defensive._

Mon was an indrawn breath away from recklessly jumping into the discussion when a deep voice from the other side of the circle pre-empted her.

"It is the _Senate's_ free choice to ignore the knowledge and advice of the Jedi who serve it, Your Excellency." Jedi Master Mace Windu – Mon knew his face well – stepped into the light, creating a dark center point in the circle. He was the only one whose clothing did not reflect the bright lights. "But it would be a grave mistake to do so."

Palpatine smiled. "Ah, Master Windu. How good of you to join us. My concern, as I'm certain you can appreciate, is that centuries of Jedi mystical wisdom haven't helped shorten this dreadful war with the Separatist systems, or to persuade those systems of the error of their ways."

It was a breathtakingly unfair statement. The onlookers around Mon muttered and murmured in what sounded like approval.

Tomorrow's gossip had begun.

"Our assistance to the Republic is practical in nature, and always has been," Windu rumbled.

_Stop generalizing!_ Mon wanted to yell out as her companions in the crowd muttered and shifted. _Use specific examples! _She found herself wishing fervently that the Jedi were as well trained in the deadly art of debate as in their uncanny swordsmanship. The battles in which Palpatine was engaging them required a completely different set of skills.

She clenched her fists. Why were the Jedi being so passive here? Wasn't Kenobi the one who had pointed out that the key to Palpatine's power was the way he exerted influence? And here he was, allowing Palpatine to blatantly and publicly manipulate people's beliefs about the Jedi. Whatever the guests in this room might think privately, not a single voice spoke up in defense of the Jedi. They were all afraid. Later, tomorrow, and in the end, it would be that lack of support for the Jedi that would be remembered with growing suspicion and thoughts of "what if Palpatine was right?"

_That's it,_ Mon decided, _I have to say something, I can't just stand here…_

A loud commotion on the other side of the room and an excited rumble from the crowds on the far side stopped the Chancellor from launching his next volley in the debate. He leaned over to his black-robed 'personal assistant' and whispered in his ear. The 'assistant' said something brief in return. Palpatine pointed to the other side of the room. The man in black…Mon squinted to make sure she was seeing correctly … the man in black folded his arms and shook his head in a gesture that could only mean a refusal.

Fascinated, Mon stood on tiptoe to peer around the large form of Master Windu, who still was in her sightline. It was difficult to make out the expression on Palpatine's face, but Mon saw him turn to the Vice Chancellor, who nodded and immediately began to push his way through the crowds toward the other side of the room, brandishing his staff in front of him. The hush that had fallen during the informal "debate" reverted again to the normal cacophony of a large social event. Suddenly a series of lights that rivaled in brightness the ones surrounding the Chancellor were switched on at the opposite end of the room, making all eyes turn to look.

All eyes except Mon's, that is. She knew exactly what was about to happen, and preferred to observe the reactions of Palpatine and his group. In order to get closer, Mon took the opportunity to make her presence known to the Supreme Chancellor. After all, she told herself, it wouldn't do to have attended his reception and not greeted him personally, would it?

"Your Excellency," Mon greeted him in her most charming manner. "I'm sorry I arrived too late to join it that debate. It was most interesting."

"Such a pity, Senator Mothma," the Supreme Chancellor said, with just the perfect little bow. "I would have liked to hear your position on the subject." His words were perfect, too. Only he looked at her the way he might look at an insect that had the temerity to crawl on his dinner plate.

"Oh, I'm certain my position wouldn't have been a surprise to you, Chancellor Palpatine. "You're aware how keenly the Chandrila System espouses peace."

"As do we all," Palpatine said smoothly. "I would have welcomed you on my side of the debate, then."

"Another time, perhaps," Mon suggested graciously.

"Indeed." Palpatine gave her another little bow and turned back to the man in black. Mon backed away just enough so it didn't look as though she was eavesdropping and tried to blend into a group that stood directly behind Palpatine.

She heard Palpatine say, in a low voice, "You knew about this display, Anakin?"

The man in black hesitated, then nodded once.

His arms were still firmly crossed across his chest, Mon noted, and rather unusually he wore gloves. _A former Jedi. _She thought the hilt of a Jedi weapon was just visible underneath his cloak, but she wasn't sure. The lights under which the Chancellor and the man in black stood were still terribly bright.

"Why did you allow it?"

"I see no reason to object to an act of charity that is made in good conscience."

Mon looked up suddenly because she thought she felt someone looking at her. It was Kenobi, but she realized quickly he wasn't staring at her, but at the man in black. The 'former Jedi.' Padmé's husband. The look was so intense that even she had responded it. From her position behind him, Mon couldn't make out whether the man in black returned the stare.

"Honored Senators and guests of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, may I please have your attention?"

The enhanced voice of the Senator from the Naboo System floated throughout the room, which soon began to quiet.

"I would like to take the opportunity on this special occasion, when we have come together in friendship and harmony, to announce a special charitable initiative. Many of us in the Senate – representatives of over eight hundred systems so far, and more joining in every day – have long sought a way to express our personal grief, and that of the people whom we represent in the Senate, over the devastation this war has brought to all systems and peoples in the Galaxy. Our response to this Galaxy-wide suffering comes not in the form of a law, and not as an edict that applies only to those who have sworn allegiance to the Republic. Our response arises from the memory of a Galaxy that once stood together for the benefit of _all_ its denizens. Or response arises from compassion for the suffering of all – those who once were our neighbors, and _those who no longer are_."

Mon heard some gasps behind her as a wave of muttering and mumbling swept through the vast room. Mon glanced at the men who stood directly in front of her. Both of them – the Supreme Chancellor and his 'personal representative,' were frozen in place. Mon wished she could see their faces.

"The members of this group," Padmé's gentle voice went on, "the new charitable organization we have named the Refugee Outreach Alliance, are joining together in a strictly nonpartisan way to bring medical, economic and political relief to the innumerable refugees _throughout the Galaxy_…" here Padmé's voice paused for emphasis "…who have been made to suffer as a result of the war that has torn us apart."

Mas Amedda came huffing and puffing back to stand at the Chancellor's side. Mon quickly stepped back and blended in with the rapt onlookers behind her. "It's being fed live to the Holonet," the Vice Chancellor announced in a stage whisper.

"What does she mean by political relief?" someone asked behind Mon.

Mon couldn't resist. She twisted around and whispered in turn, "I think she means amnesty for political refugees, along with the financial support."

"By the Gods," someone else behind Mon muttered. "Does she have any idea what she is doing?"

_I think she does, _Mon thought with a sudden burst of pleasure. _Either way, she is the only one with the nerve to take this kind of a stand._

"Excuse me," the man in black said suddenly, and stepped out of the flood of light around the Chancellor's party to disappear into the throng that was beginning to move toward the far end of the room.

Mon thought she saw the Chancellor make a small movement with his hand. She wasn't quite sure, but it seemed that he clenched his fist.


	18. Chapter 17 Circle Game

**Chapter 17. Circle Game**

It ishard to find a shadowy corner in the middle of an enormous, well-attended reception, but Anakin did. Maybe that was because he _was _a kind of shadowy corner unto himself – a remote figure that seemed to say, "Stay away," even though he said nothing at all. As Anakin pushed his way through the murmuring crowds toward the bright holonet lights, people to whom he had just been introduced nodded to him here and there. But the few who tried to engage him in conversation soon fell silent and let him pass by.

In short order Anakin had found his way out of one glaring pool of light and to the very edge of another at the far end of the reception room. He stopped just out of reach of the holonet lights and hovered in the space that somehow had formed around him, arms crossed, watching the proceedings intensely. Padmé had finished her speech to a surprising round of applause that had begun in scattered, nervous pockets but soon had warmed up to a generous accolade. She began to introduce Garm bel Iblis, who stood next to her, resplendent in a deep blue ensemble that rivaled Mas Amedda's for depth of color.

"…the Senator from the Corellian system, whose generosity toward the victims of this war is as great as their belief in the peaceful resolution of all conflict…"

Anakin tensed. _Don't launch into a critique of the war, not now. Not under all these lights …_

Padmé looked up, seeming somehow to know exactly where he stood. Shesmiled, as if to say, it's_ all right. It will be all right._

But Anakin did worry. It wasn't all right. Nothing was all right. There in the shadowy space at the edge of yet another bright circle, Anakin knew it wasn't all right because he could sense the abyss that yawned beneath the world in which they stood, and acted, and played out their parts. That world was an illusion. They lived inside of it as if the ground beneath their feet was firm, as if walls of any strength could protect them, as though the straightforward laws that governed matter could be relied upon. None of those things were true. Everything was in motion. Everything could change in an instant.

Anakin could feel the empty spaces in between, where the Force dwelt. It throbbed in his mind and swirled through his senses, changing with the pulse of every thought and every feeling that emanated from every being around him. And behind it all, underneath it all, something dark and cold and pitiless lay in waiting. Something… _something_… that respected boundaries only when they served its purpose.

Mercifully, Padmé kept her introduction of Bel Iblis brief and stepped back to allow the Corellian to take center stage. Anakin slipped closer, as close as he could without catching the light. Padmé glanced his way again. She knew he was there. Unable to stand by her side, Anakin held on to her with his eyes and his mind while he tried to steady the tilt of his reeling thoughts.

_Breathe,_ he reminded himself, but it didn't help. With each ragged breath the Force surged though him unevenly, bright as sunlight in places, thick and dark in others. The unsteadiness in his perceptions translated into his body and Anakin felt dizzy. He clutched himself more tightly and concentrated on Padmé. The sight of her, her nearness, buoyed him up and kept him on his feet.

_Please, _he chanted in his mind. _Please. _He didn't know to whom his entreaty was directed, or what he really was asking. It was primal. Pure feeling, beyond thought, in the shape of a single word. _Please._

Someone stepped into the shadow that Anakin cast, stood right next to him, and even imitated his posture. Someone silent. Without taking his eyes or his attention off Padmé, Anakin noticed dimly that the tumult in his mind and body seemed to ease a little.

"Anakin," the silence whispered beside him. He scowled. Without turning to look, he knew it was V'ar.

"What do you want?"

"To help."

He didn't look at her. He didn't answer.

The silence beside him grew warmer, lighter. Anakin's next few breaths were slightly easier.

Bel Iblis' speech inviting the Alliance's steering committee into the neutral territory of the Corellia System on a fact-finding mission ended, to another round of generous applause.

Anakin's bout of dizziness subsided.

Padmé stepped forward to thank the Senator from the Corellia system and all the contributors to the Alliance, and began to list the names of those who would undertake the group's first fact finding mission; the first, Padmé said, smiling, of what she hoped would be many.

Anakin felt a familiar creeping feeling of darkness on the back of his neck. He pushed it away. Hard. It hurt to breathe.

_Padmé…_he called out silently.

Senator Bail Organa of the Alderaan system was on the list. Anakin calculated quickly. Five Senators in all, along with their staff and security details, and to Anakin's knowledge, only two of them were associated with Padmé's secret group. _The group she promised she had left… did Organa put her up to this? _Dark thoughts began to pound in Anakin's mind again.

The silence beside him shifted slightly. He took a deep, quiet breath that actually helped to calm him this time.

"It's a noble effort," the quiet voice said beside him.

"What?"

"The refugee outreach. She is… quite extraordinary… isn't she, Anakin?"

Something in his chest loosened. "Yes," Anakin whispered.

"She won't be without protection on this journey."

For the first time Anakin looked over at the quiet Jedi who stood next to him with her arms crossed like his, watching the proceedings in the light that illuminated only her serene face.

"What… what do you mean?"

"Just that. Put your mind at rest."

Garm bel Iblis finished his speech and introduced another Senator, someone called Y'lia of the Zarrun system. A small, round being stepped forward and began to speak volubly and emotively of the plight of the homeless and disenfranchised. He pleaded. He wailed. He drew pictures made of words that brought tears to the eyes of even those species that did not have tear ducts. The Zarrun begged, and entreated, with a waterfall of words and images that quickly brought forth several more contributions to the Refugee Outreach Alliance, amid enthusiastic applause.

"You?" Anakin whispered.

"I will watch over her."

"Why?"

Any answer that V'ar might have given was drowned out by a sudden, profound silence. The applause seemed, all of a sudden, to have _ceased_. The lights from the far end of the room had drawn closer, so close that they nearly merged with the bright holonet set.

Nearly, but not quite. The Supreme Chancellor's party had moved closer, but still stood on its own.

"My friends and colleagues, thank you for supporting this stirring and inspiring endeavor," Palpatine began in a sonorous voice.

Anakin felt Padmé's initial tremor of irritation as clearly as he felt her get herself under control. He reached out to her with his feelings, and felt her grow steadier.

"It is an effort that demonstrates the highest ideals and principles of the Republic that means so much to us." Palpatine seemed to be warming up to a full speech. "The Republic for which we fight and die, because these ideals are so important. The Republic whose ruthless enemies do not share our compassion, and who only want victory without a care for the price."

Anakin felt bodiless, like a bundle of pure energy. Ready. Waiting. Suspended between two poles as he examined the Supreme Chancellor's words for threats while holding onto Padmé with his heart. Beside him, V'ar's quiet deepened.

"Our enemies have made the Galaxy a dangerous place. The war is moving ever closer to our doorstep even here in the Core, where war-related conflicts are on the rise. I am concerned for the safety of the courageous Senators who are determined to undertake this charitable mission."

The Supreme Chancellor had everyone's full attention. Anakin's, too. Every fiber of Anakin's being was alive with a single powerful thought, an intent that was focused and powered by pure feeling: _don't you dare._

Palpatine paused and looked down for moment as though collecting his thoughts. His face bore a small… smile. He looked up again.

"This high-minded effort deserves the full protection of the Republic. Allow me to provide you with an escort – a seasoned battle group – to protect this mission."

The glaring lights of the holonet made Bel Iblis' startled expression was visible for all to see. Padmé, on the other hand, seemed quite relaxed.

"After all," Palpatine continued … and here Anakin felt as though he was being addressed directly, even though the Chancellor had not looked in his direction once … "I am sworn to protect the Republic and those who represent it."

"Really, Supreme Chancellor," Bel Iblis floundered. "It is a most generous offer, I'm sure, but given the Corellia system's strict policy of non-participation in the war … non-military forms of security have been arranged …" It wasn't going well. Bel Iblis stopped sputtering, collected himself, and said, more forcefully, "Surely travel in the Galaxy's Core sector is not so dangerous as to require the escort of a full military force!"

"Oh, but it is, Senator," Palpatine insisted. There was a tone to his voice that implied a direct threat. "My most reliable intelligence sources assure me that even the main traffic lanes in the Core systems no longer are safe." Here Palpatine did look directly at Anakin, and many eyes in the hushed assembly followed his gaze. Anakin remained motionless while exclamations of alarm surged around him.

V'arhad disappeared.

"Your Excellency, I really don't think…" Bel Iblis stopped mid-sentence when Padmé put a hand on his arm, and he yielded his place in the limelight immediately when she stepped forward to give her own response.

"Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, your concern for our safety and more importantly, for the success of our mission, is inspiring. Provided that the Corellian authorities agree, I gladly accept this assistance on behalf of the Refugee Outreach Alliance."

Scattered applause and general chattering swirled around Anakin while he closed his eyes and fought down the sick feeling in his gut. _Not again, please not again._ _This is like the replay of a bad dream…_

When he opened his eyes again Padmé suddenly was there beside him. She took his arm. Anakin leaned close.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "Didn't you learn anything the last time he offered you a military escort? He'll find a way to destroy the mission, and you with it… only this time, he won't fail."

Padmé looked around, smiled and nodded at a few people, and began to pull Anakin toward the grand doors that led out into the foyer.

"I expected him to make that offer, Anakin. I counted on it, in fact. I learned a great deal from the last time he decided to do away with me." She kept a sociable smile on her face for all to see, but she couldn't hide the pain of her memories – of their shared memories – from Anakin.

"You won't be able stop him." _I can't even stop him… _Anakin got a firm grip on his rising panic, but he couldn't keep the worry from his face or out of his voice.

"He won't dare harm the mission, or anyone connected with it," Padmé said quietly. "Not at first, anyway."

"Why?"

Padmé looked around surreptitiously. "Let's go out there."

The foyer was much less crowded than the interior rooms. Padmé steered them toward a spot by a vast transparent wall, where it felt as though they were floating above the city. Anakin didn't bother with the view. He kept looking at Padmé's face, fighting down the recurring thought that it might be the last time he would see her.

"I hate this!" he burst out. "I don't want to let you go. Anything could happen…"

"No, Anakin, it will be all right. I promise. This time is completely different. That other journey was private. This is public. Glaringly public. I'll be in the spotlight the entire time. Bail has arranged for a holonet crew to document every step of our fact-finding mission. They will be with us every minute, transmitting live feed of our tour on the scene and from behind the scenes. I'll make sure to stay in the bright lights. I'll never go anywhere without an entourage. I'll even make sure that I sleep in a roomful of people." She smiled. "You'll be able to watch my progress day by day."

She was planning to hide in plain sight.

"It's still risky. Crowds don't stop a determined assassin." _Or a military attack._ "Remember … remember what happened on Naboo."

"I know. But the publicity will, at least for a little while. And that's all we'll need… right?" She looked at him expectantly.

"It will be easy to find you – but all the harder to make you disappear."

"You won't have to. I'll find a way to meet you, Anakin. Nothing can stop me." Her hand slipped up to touch his face. It was a lingering touch, a touch that said, 'I may not be able to touch you again for a long time'…"I'll stay safe, and wait for you to contact me."

Anakin's other hand slid around her waist. "Nothing can stop me, either. Nothing." He meant it. He did. He said it with passion and conviction. Then why was there a dark curl of doubt at the back of his mind? "I'll let you know where I am as soon as I can," he added fiercely, to chase it away.

They stared at one another hungrily, neither one daring to move closer. They weren't alone in the grand foyer.

"We will be waiting," Padmé whispered at last, and pushed him gently away from her.

She seemed to know that, without that push, nothing could have made him go.

x

V'ar's job for the evening was to patrol the reception rooms as unobtrusively as possible, and to notice things. She was doing what a Jedi does best in such situations – remaining in the background and observing.

She was good at noticing things. She had made enough observations of the people, their patterns of behavior, their shifting moods, power plays, official and unofficial social hierarchies, that afterwards, when asked, she would be able to deliver a detailed verbal report on the latest political and personal alliances, concerns and attitudes across a large sample of the Galaxy's lawmakers. She noted who was lying, to whom, and why, who was afraid, who wanted and needed something, and from whom.

She also took careful note of the things that made her job difficult.

So much of what V'ar learned from her observations depended upon her ally, the Force. It expanded her senses, and the information she received through them. It showed her patterns and deepened her understanding. It warned her, and guided her, and strengthened her in every way.

How difficult it was, then, that the Force itself seemed to behave differently here, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Sometimes, instead of providing clarity, it was as if a veil slipped before her perceptions. Sometimes the Force seemed to play with her, showing her one thing, only to change it to another. The effect on her perceptions was subtle, but terrible – it planted tiny seeds of doubt. It was a struggle not to lose faith in her abilities.

Still, V'ar persevered. It wasn't that she was Force-blind, not by far. She could clearly distinguish the roiling energies in the vast room when Obi-Wan had stood in debate with the Chancellor, but there was nothing at all to be perceived from Obi-Wan, Anakin and Chancellor Palpatine when they stood in those lights, with everyone's attention focused on them.

In Obi-Wan's case it was his sophisticated shielding at work – he wasn't about to telegraph anything he didn't want to. In Anakin's case she might have surmised the same, except he hadn't seemed shielded so much as empty – not there, like a form without content.. No matter how she tried, V'ar's awareness hadn't been able to grab hold of him. Even more interesting was the fact that the same had been true of the Supreme Chancellor.

Padmé's announcement, and the speeches and enthusiastic fundraising that had ensued, had shifted the social dynamics at the reception enough for Obi-Wan to make his escape from the spotlight. But it was Anakin whom V'ar had followed when he'd ducked out of the lights. And that time the Force had been with her again, because as soon as she stood beside him while he watched his wife, his profound shielding had slipped a little. Just for a moment. And she had, at last, 'seen' him.

The experience had been wrenching. V'ar thought her observations in those few moments were the most important ones that she would bring away with her from this evening's work.

There was something else that made V'ar 's work difficult. After Palpatine's debate with Obi-Wan, it no longer was possible to circulate unobtrusively. The debate had brought the idea of 'the Jedi' to the forefront of people's minds, and now they began to notice her, no matter how skillfully she tried to remain unobtrusive. They noticed her in a way that made it clear that a new factor had entered their thinking – something that V'ar recognized and understood well.

Doubt.

More seeds had been planted.

It was getting to the point where the open curiosity and suspicion that now followed her through the receptions rooms were interfering with her ability to listen and observe without being noticed.

It was time to stop. V'ar thought she ought to find Obi-Wan. The problem was, he'd seemingly vanished not just from the lights around the Palpatine, but altogether. She wasn't able to sense his presence nearby. She headed for the grand foyer, wondering whether she ought to try to find him, and whether he even wanted to be found, only to be stopped halfway to her destination by two familiar faces.

"Jedi Taanil," Senator Organa said kindly. "Leaving so soon?"

"My work here is finished," V'ar said with a polite nod. "There is nothing more that I can accomplish."

"Not here, perhaps," Organa's companion broke in. "But surely not everyone will come to believe from the events of a single evening that the Jedi cannot be trusted… that it is more honorable to be a _former_ Jedi, than a Jedi." Mon Mothma placed a sympathetic hand on V'ar's arm.

Senator Mothma had a way of cutting to the heart of things. Her direct and unequivocal summary of what had taken place was so honest that it hurt.

"Actually, Senator Mothma," V'ar said with equal honesty, "that belief already has taken hold. This room is filled with it, and it will break these banks and spread like a flood. This one evening will cost us dearly."

"This 'former Jedi,' Organa asked abruptly. "Skywalker. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I know him." _As much as anyone can know Anakin_, V'ar thought. A_nyone who is not intimately close to him._ The image of Senator Amidala, as she had experienced her through Anakin's overwhelming feelings, still shimmered brightly in her mind.

"What can you tell us about him?"

V'ar hesitated. What did she actually know about Anakin now, at this point in time? He had changed. She had changed. Everything around them had changed, and was changing still.

What could she say to this man that was honest and true?

"I know that he is very powerful, and that he never should be underestimated." She looked around, expandingher awareness to see who else might be listening.Thenshe looked back at her rapt audience. They wanted more from her. V'ar understood what was at stake for them personally and for the opposition group. It was the same thing that the Jedi had wanted to know about Anakin. They wanted to know his agenda. Where his loyalties lay. Whether he could be trusted.

Only the Jedi had already made up their minds.

V'ar pictured herself standing beside Anakin while he watched the holonet transmission earlier that evening.Re-living the experience,she experienced once again the power of Anakin's feelings, and the deadliness of his intent.

"If I wanted to remain in Anakin Skywalker's good graces," V'ar said carefully, "I would make certain that, _no matter who I was_, I never did anything… _anything_… that would harm Senator Amidala."

There it was. The truth as she knew it. Her companions' stunned silence suggested that she had given them something new to think about. V'ar hoped her observations would have the same effect on the Jedi Council.

And where was Obi-Wan, anyway? He was the one she most wanted to talk to.

"I must take my leave," V'ar said politely and, before she could be asked any more questions, she made her way out into the night to find him.

x

Anakin hadn't yet left the Senate building premises when he got caught. He'd already ignored one summons from his comm. link on his way back to Padmé's apartment to change out of his absurd formal clothes, but sensibly decided against ignoring the second. This wasn't the time to take a stand. He'd just been hoping to slip away before the reception ended and to finally embark on his mission without having any more conversations.

With anyone.

This summons was unequivocal. As soon as Anakin set foot back inside the Senate building on the level where the reception still churned with activity, a pair of Red Guards fell into step with him, directing him toward the Supreme Chancellor's private office. Apparently Palpatine, too, was finished with the reception.

The Red Guards shepherded Anakin all the way to his destination. Their presence was an insulting gesture that irritated him profoundly, given his annoyance at having failed to escape the evening without a last conversation with Palpatine. Another circling game. Another intricate dance of lies. Another battle of threats and counter-threats.

Anakin shrugged off his escort at the door to the Supreme Chancellor's suite of offices and went inside alone.

"I'm going to be late," he said boldly into Palpatine's baleful glare, in lieu of a greeting. "The _Victorious_ is ready to leave orbit; they're just waiting for me. I was already on my way."

Palpatine took a long time about answering. A long, icy, suffocating time. Anakin stood his ground.

"You're going to have to change your plans, Anakin. After this evening's …events… I'm assigning the _Victorious_ and her task group to escort your wife and her …ah… charitable group to Corellia. You cannot be seen as having anything to do with this …Alliance. You must not contact your wife. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with your mission, do you understand me?"

Anakin shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him. "Of course. Their initiative has nothing to do with me. I'll arrange alternate transportation."

The _Defiance_ was waiting for him, ready to go.

Palpatine's eyes narrowed. "You are walking a very dangerous path, Anakin."

Anakin braced himself. "I don't see why."

Palpatine didn't even pretend to play the game. He just glared. "This studied ingenuousness of yours will not help you. You serve me, and me alone. You are perfectly aware of the conditions of this bond, which I delineated to you – to you both – on Naboo. They have not changed. I hold you directly responsible for your wife's actions. _You hold her life in your hands._"

"She has done nothing to break our agreement," Anakin growled.

"I will be the judge of that."

Anakin took a step forward. "You won't touch her."

Palpatine leaned back in his chair. "You wouldn't be the first man to be blinded by the beauty of a traitorous woman, Anakin. I suggest you reconsider your situation very carefully."

"She is not a traitor." Anakin's voice was low and soft.

"I'm disappointed in you, Anakin. I never took you for a fool." The look that Palpatine fixed on Anakin was distant and disapproving. "You know as well as I do what she and her Jedi friends are plotting."

_Jedi friends?_ Old demons coiled somewhere deep inside of Anakin, rattling the bonds that had held them chained for so long.

"I will know if any harm comes to her. I will know instantly. So will the whole Galaxy."

"Oh," Palpatine intoned dismissively. "That business with the holonet. It is of no importance. You know perfectly well how the eyes can deceive, especially when the Jedi are involved." He sat forward suddenly. "I suppose you think your wife is being honest with you."

"Don't you dare," Anakin snarled. A storm was gathering inside him and around him. The demons screamed.

"So brave," Palpatine sneered. "So helpless."

_Helpless._ Anakin was struck dumb with fury.

"You cannot hide from me, Anakin. Your heart speaks truly." Anakin's captor leaned forward. "I know your heart. _I know you._"

Anakin's ancient demons broke the bonds they had been straining against and roared though his heart and mind, circling his soul.

Free at last, they turned on him.

The Force twisted into a whirlwind around him, darkening everything until all he could see through the tunnel of his vision were Palpatine's cold, distant eyes. Anakin's hands flew up, tugging helplessly at the invisible forces that wound themselves more and more tightly around his throat, making it impossible to breathe. The pressure tightened unbearably. He felt oblivion coming. All he could see were the twin stars of Palpatine's eyes, until…

… the pressure ceased, and he fell gasping to his knees on the Supreme Chancellor's indifferent carpet. Aside from his own agonized breaths, there wasn't a sound in the room.

"Go," Palpatine said at last, into the tortured silence. "Carry out your mission. I will await your return."

Anakin climbed back onto his unsteady feet. Without so much as a further glance at the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, he threw himself out of the office and into the anteroom, where the two Red Guards waited as silently as statues. With a sudden, deadly streak of moving light, Anakin struck out first at one, and then at the other. Their heads, still clad in tattered red hoods, rolled onto the anteroom floor followed by the heavy twin thuds of their lifeless bodies, as Anakin disappeared into the empty corridor beyond.

Palpatine surveyed the carnage dispassionately from the desk in the room beyond.

_How he hates me, _he thought.

_Good._

_Very good._

He didn't care whom Anakin hated. Just so long as he did hate.


	19. Chapter 18 Beyond Boundaries

**Chapter 18. Beyond Boundaries**

_This should be interesting, _the Captain of the _Victorious _thought skeptically, as the vivid ship symbols on his tactical screen that represented his Task Force approached the thick line that denoted the outer edge of the Corellia system's space. On the opposite side of the line a cluster of smaller symbols could be seen approaching the _Victorious_, her Task Force, and the civilian vessels that they had escorted here from Coruscant.

"Full stop. Commence hail." As he gave the order, the Captain couldn't resist glancing out the bridge's viewscreen beyond the console. The Corellian vessels were still too far away to be seen with the naked eye. The system boundary that showed up so clearly on the monitor was invisible outside. Any true boundaries and barriers that existed in space were shaped by natural laws… the laws that were defined by physics, chemistry and mathematics. Here they were bowing before an imaginary line, a political device that could shift and even vanish with the whims of the lawmakers.

Or with a decisive battle.

The Captain looked at the approaching blips on his monitor again and checked the analysis readout. Unimpressed, he couldn't stop himself from commenting to the tall,bulky man who stood beside him.

"_That_ represents the Corellia system's military forces?"

"Our security force is designed to deal with domestic law enforcement, Captain," the Senator from the Corellia system snapped. "Why would a star system that lies at the very center of a vast, peaceful Republic require an army designed to fight off invaders?"

The Captain shrugged coldly. "Then it is to be hoped that Separatist forces are defeated in the Outer Rim territories. If they push their way this far into the interior of the Galaxy, your high-minded notions of neutrality will mean nothing."

The Senator fell silent. A comm. screen appeared, bearing the image of a man in the uniform of the Corellian Security Service.

"The Corellian Supreme Council has not approved entry of your military vessels, Captain. We will take over the protection of the Senate delegation from here. Please remain where you are and send the Senate Delegation's ships forward."

The Captain of the _Victorious_ successfully fought down a surge of irritation. It wasn't even a Senate delegation they were protecting so vigilantly – it was some kind of a private charitable initiative begun by Senators. The difference, he felt, was significant. They were only receiving military support through the generosity of the Supreme Chancellor, and now that generosity was being rebuffed. But instead of making a cutting comment, the Captain merely raised his eyebrows at the Senator beside him.

"It is as I expected," Bel Iblis said shortly. "I'll take my leave of you, then, Captain. Thank you for your escort." Without waiting for an answer, the Corellian Senator strode rather quickly to the elevators at the side of the _Victorious'_ bridge. It was obvious that he couldn't wait to leave.

The star destroyer's Captain gave the necessary orders, and then rocked back on his heels to watch on his instruments as the Senate Delegation's ships moved forward to cross the invisible border of the Corellian Star System.

_Are you as bored as I am, Captain? _The unexpected words, spoken to him weeks before by the Supreme Chancellor's mysterious envoy, drifted back to him yet again. Insufferable as he had been, the man had spoken directly into his psyche. The months the Captain had spent patrolling the relatively safe traffic lanes of the inner Core with a task group powerful enough to win many battles on its own, while the course of the war was being decided elsewhere, burned bitterly in his zealous soul. Having to play nanny to a gaggle of publicity-seeking Senators, only to be refused peaceful entry at the gates of a system that they would invariably have to rescue when the Separatist forces arrived – and they _would _arrive sooner rather than later, of that the Captain was certain – felt like the ultimate insult.

But he was a patient man. Ambition had made him patient. He always had followed orders without question, and had endured the most painful frustrations – such as Special Envoy Skywalker's presence and command of his ship and his Task Force – with the fortitude second only to that of a clone. And it seemed that his patience had begun to pay off, because for the last several missions, his orders had come directly from the Supreme Chancellor himself.

That meant that the Supreme Chancellor not only knew who he was, but relied upon him. In fact, it often seemed to the Captain that that the military resources he commanded served exclusively at the pleasure of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.

It was a very, very good position for an ambitious military man to be in. And for that reason the Captain of the Star Destroyer _Victorious_ repressed his boredom and impatience, obeyed his orders without question, tolerated the things he found hateful, and took perhaps a keener interest in the politics of the situations that he was thrust into than other military men might have. It was, after all, an opportunity to approach the immediate orbit of a very powerful and successful leader. And to learn from him.

The Captain was quite certain that this situation with the Corellians was only one step in a much larger plan. He would watch events unfold with interest, and see whether his own suspicions were right.

The Captain's second in command returned from the comms. pit where he had been finalizing the protocols for the handover.

"What now, Captain Tarkin?"

"Now we transmit our report and position to Coruscant," the Captain of the Star Destroyer _Victorious_ said. "Then we wait, and watch."

x

"Not that one," Sabé said critically. "It doesn't hang right."

"I don't care," Padmé said from between clenched teeth. I have changed my gown three times already. That's enough!"

"One more, My Lady," Dormé wheedled beside her, holding up something silky in lavender. "I think this one will work perfectly. It's the last one, I promise."

Padmé sighed, and turned around for the third time to allow the gown she was wearing to be unfastened. "This is the last one. No matter what."

"You'll do it for Dormé but not for me?" Sabé sniffed.

"She's nicer to me." Padmé struggled out of the heavy bronze gown and into the lighter, softer lavender. She felt better already. "I like this one."

Sabé studied her, frowning critically. "It's not whether you like it, but whether it will give the required impression in a holonet transmission that counts."

Padmé bit her lip instead of making a biting comment.

"It's lovely, My Lady," Dormé murmured soothingly.

Sabé was more direct. "This was your idea, this holonet documentary business. It's bad form to complain now."

"You're right." Padmé raised her hand to rub her forehead, only to have Dormé gently catch her wrist.

"The makeup," Dormé whispered.

Padmé let out a frustrated sigh and lowered her hands to her sides, the only place that seemed safe for them. But her fists clenched.

"So, how do I look?"

"Elegant." Sabé circled her slowly.

"Still slender," Dormé added, narrowing her eyes at the gown's tailoring. "It works."

"Well, that's something." Padmé put one hand on the gentle mound that used to be her flat stomach. "I wonder how long we'll get away with this?"

Sabé stopped in front of her. "The gown will do. Your face won't."

"Now what?" Padmé growled. "I didn't touch the makeup."

"It's not the makeup, it's your face. You've got on the same expression that Himself has when something doesn't go his way."

"Who…?"

"That husband of yours. You know… tall, dark, and surly…"

Padmé bristled. "He's not…" Then she saw the mischief in Sabé's eyes and felt a smile coming on after all. "Tall…yes. Dark…not really. More of a golden …" She caught herself. "Surly…" The smile broke through like sunshine. "Not with me. Never with me."

Sabé softened. "That's better. Much better. I think you're ready now."

"I miss him. He's gone two days and I miss him terribly."

"I'm sure he's watching the transmissions, My Lady," Dormé suggested. "Go out there and imagine you're talking to him."

Padmé brightened. "I will!" She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. Sabé opened the door to Padmé's modest cabin, the last private space that she would have for the duration of this journey. Bravely, Padmé stepped out into the throng of people and equipment and lights that had been awaiting her in the relatively narrow corridor beyond. With her ever-vigilant Handmaidens right behind her, she smiled and nodded and walked serenely down the crowded passageway toward the docking bay where her Corellian escort would accompany her to the Refugee Outreach Alliance's first Galaxy-wide press conference.

x

Anakin had forgotten just how small the _Defiance_ was.

Most of the interior of the 25-meter blastboat was taken up with banks of equipment and weaponry, leaving a small cockpit that seated two, a short corridor flanked by a tiny fresher and an equally tiny kitchen, and a series of storage lockers. There was a very small bunkroom aft, and a tight cargo hold below that was accessed through a trap door. That was all.

Funny. It hadn't seemed nearly so claustrophobic when he had shared the space with Padmé on their fateful journey to Naboo. It had felt intimate, not cramped. Exhilarating, despite the dangers and uncertainties. Throughout that last voyage with her he had carried with him a profound sense of the unlimited _potential _of the vast universe beyond.

That was the effect Padmé had on him, always, wherever they were. She made the world around her astonishing, and beautiful, and full of possibilities. Even on Coruscant. Even though…

Anakin unconsciously rubbed his throat, although it didn't bother him. Padmé wasn't here now. He had only himself for company, and he wasn't having a good time.

He shut the weapons locker with an impatient snap. There was no room to pace on the _Defiance_, and so he had found himself checking and re-checking the ship's systems and her stores until he had every circuit, every control, and every inch of every locker memorized. It wasn't far to Corellia; with a well-planned jump the trip could take mere hours. Anakin had been en route for two days. He was sneaking in through the back door, as it were. And he and he hadn't yet decided on his exact destination.

Moodily he returned to the cockpit and turned off the sound on a lone monitor on the side of the control panel that flickered and flashed with constantly changing images of the holonet. Anakin left it on all the time. If he was away from the screen he turned up the sound. If he was nearby, he turned it off. It was his only company. Day and night the images glimmered and danced and spoke incessantly and told stories. None of it, even the continual political news, seemed to have anything to do with him in his tiny prison. He felt completely cut off from the constant flood of images and faces, and the endless scenes of battle. If anything, they made him feel even more isolated, as though he lived somewhere apart from the rest of the known universe.

Still, when he was in the cockpit he watched the monitor constantly out of the corner of his eye, searching for the one face that mattered. When he stepped away from the constant stream of chatter, he listened with every fiber of his being for her name. It came up fairly frequently in the political news, and now and then they showed a brief holo-image of her along with the story. Bail Organa's image was usually shown right beside hers.

Padmé Amidala, the Senator from the Naboo System.

_Padmé Skywalker, my wife. Mine, mine, mine, mine…_

He spent most of his time in the cockpit. Sleeping had seemed like a waste of time, so he hadn't bothered. Besides, he didn't want to miss seeing her. Meditating, too, would take him away from his constant watch, so he had slowly disintegrated into a weary, sleep-deprived, restless, irritable mess.

A face on the holonet caught Anakin's flagging attention – the face of a newsreader who seemed to present most of the stories about the Outreach Alliance. Sure enough, a series of images of the Corellian Star system followed. Anakin turned on the sound. The story continued with images of various small starships – Anakin glimpsed the unmistakably sleek lines of Padmé's Nubian cruiser – as they approached a large Corellian space station.

The earnest face of the holonet newsreader appeared again. "In a few moments we will bring you a live transmission of a news conference being held in Corellia by the Refugee Outreach Alliance, whose unprecedented outreach activities have aroused both applause and deep concern in many star systems." The face grew larger until it filled the screen. It seemed as though the newsreader's eyes were looking directly into Anakin's.

"Your focus determines your reality," the newsreader said distinctly, with a slight smile.

_What? _Anakin sat up straight and increased the volume even more. What had she just said? He listened intently.

The newsreader's expression was as studiously neutral as always. She droned on, "… the charitable effort has been openly criticized by the leaders of several star systems, although the Senate leadership has not made a formal statement on the subject…"

_Your focus determines your reality. _Had she really said that? Anakin realized that his heart was beating a little faster. He watched the transmission almost breathlessly for a few minutes, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

_Gods_, Anakin thought, rubbing his face. _I really need to get some sleep. _But the press conference was about to begin, and he would see Padmé and hear her voice, and assure himself that she was all right.

That was the most important thing.

x

Elsewhere in the furthest reaches of the Corellia system another vessel slipped between the vast surveillance and communications networks that blanketed the populous Core of the Galaxy. The shabby old cargo vessel was a common model of Corellian manufacture, and looked as though it belonged there in the far reaches of that star system, trundling its cargo from one planet to another.

Only its destination wasn't a planet. It was some place else. Some place new. A place like no other in the Galaxy – a place that didn't officially exist, full of people that didn't want to be found. The old freighter's cargo was not intended for trade or sale. Instead of following the well-traveled trade routes that cris-crossed the Corellia system, the old ship was following an odd course that might have been more familiar to Corellia's well-established underworld of pirates and outlaws than to its commercial traders – a course that involved a complex series of short jumps from one communications 'dead zone' to the next.

The two Jedi in the old freighter didn't particularly want to be found, either. Being a Jedi was no longer a guarantee of a warm welcome even in their own part of the Galaxy; where they were going, it was best to be something else entirely. Accordingly, given the circumstances and their destination, they no longer looked like Jedi.

One of the Jedi-in-disguise, a tall Twi'lek female, who now was rather startlingly dressed in the latest Coruscant fashion, was hunched over the nav. console absorbed in the complex details of plotting their course. From time to time she glanced at that man who sat quietly beside her, who looked like an ordinary star pilot. Whenever she looked at him, a suppressed smile made her mouth twitch. For a solid hour he had been absorbed in the same data readouts while unconsciously stroking his smoothly-shaven jaw. Finally she couldn't stand it any longer.

"Don't you think that was a bit drastic?"

There was a pause while her companion's mental gears shifted, and he became aware that he was being addressed.

"What? Sorry, I wasn't listening."

"Shaving off your beard. Your hand hasn't left your chin since you sat down."

"Oh." Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi stroked his smooth jaw one more time, and then reluctantly removed his hand from his face. "It does feel odd. I was so accustomed to it. But I think it was necessary. Unfortunately, mine is a very recognizable face, especially now."

V'ar repressed a spike of uncharacteristic bitterness before replying. No matter how monumental and courageous Kenobi's deeds as General of the Republic's fighting forces had been, his heroic service to the Republic had never brought him as much notoriety as a few minutes' public debate with the Supreme Chancellor. Now his image was a constant presence on the galactic Holonet, and seemed to appear every time the Jedi were mentioned. Unfortunately – and entirely unfairly, V'ar thought – it was the wrong kind of visibility. His achievements and heroism, and the sacrifices made by all the Jedi on behalf of the Republic were hardly ever mentioned. The Holonet pundits were too busy dissecting the Order's possible role in prolonging the seemingly never-ending conflict. Unless this war was ended soon, who knew how far the Jedi's star would descend, and how quickly?

"You look younger without it. A lot younger."

Obi-Wan looked bemused. "I don't know about that. It certainly won't fool anyone who knows me, or who is specifically looking for me. At best I can hope to arrive anonymously here and there, and to remain unrecognized for a short time in each place. It will have to do. My days of working strictly undercover are over for the moment." He turned a very pointed gaze on V'ar. "It seems that's up to you now."

The sound of the reversion alarm drew her attention back to the console. The hyperspace jump was ending, and it was time to re-set their course again. V'ar struggled to master the upsetting surge of emotions that threatened her usual calm. It pained her that such an extraordinary man, such a brilliant Jedi, should have been singled out to receive the …the _debasement_ – she couldn't think of a better word – that was meant for the Jedi Order as a whole.

But she was even more pained by the thought that he probably was very unhappy with her.

"I hate leaving you to do this alone," she murmured.

A groaning lurch indicated the end of their most recent hyperspace jump. Obi-Wan quickly put aside the information he had been studying so carefully, and returned the piloting controls to manual.

"It was entirely of your own making, this side mission of yours," he pointed out, while he fought the old freighter's unfortunate tendency to fishtail wildly on eversion into realspace with fierce attention. "You're the one who opted to abandon me."

V'ar winced inwardly. It wasn't as though she wanted to separate from the partner with whom the Council had so surprisingly, and serendipitously, thrown her together. She was devoted to Obi-Wan. She cared about him the way she had cared about her own Master. The opportunity to work with Obi-Wan, to spend time with him, to learn how he thought, when he acted, and why, was worth years in a classroom.But even that wasn't the only reason she was loathe to leave him. She wanted to look out for him, as Master Windu had asked her to do when he first had put them together as a team.

V'ar felt, deep down, that Obi-Wan needed looking after. Skilled and experienced as he was, and as hardened as he appeared, there was a constant sorrow behind his eyes. V'ar thought that his unremitting, silent suffering made him vulnerable, possibly in ways he didn't even realize. She worried about him. She wanted to protect him.

But she had made a promise.

"I hope this bucket holds together," she muttered, to change the subject.

"It will," Obi-Wan reassured her as the stars reappeared in the wide viewscreen.

Whether because of his reassurance, or because of the renewed sense of wonder and awe that washed over her every time she found herself in the quiet heart of deep space, V'ar let her private concerns slip away and focused on setting their new course. She took a little longer than strictly necessary to set the new course, making doubly sure that everything was correct. Obi-Wan had that effect on her – he made her always want to be her best.

"Not long now." She frowned. "Are you sure you're going to be able to fly this thing on your own once I leave? It's not meant for a single pilot."

"There's only one more jump once I've left you on Talus. I'll manage." He looked over at her sharply. "And you? How do you plan to get close to the Refugee Alliance's Delegation? The security around them is as tight as on a military base."

"With one difference. They're not dug in. A mobile group is more vulnerable, and therefore, ultimately more accessible." She returned his glance defiantly. "That's why I'm going, after all. To make sure that protection is as good as it can be."

"I still don't think it's a good idea."

"I know. I know that all too well. But the Jedi Council agreed with me that I should go."

Obi-Wan didn't answer, but the sudden tightness around his jaw line was clearly visible. He had openly and vehemently disagreement with the Council's decision to allow V'ar to follow the Refugee Alliance Delegation rather than continuing on with him on his mission in support of the Senate opposition group.

"You're going to have to watch that jaw clench, now that the beard is gone," V'ar advised him.

"I'll bear that in mind." His pleasant demeanor was gone; he was scowling out the viewscreen. "I just don't see the necessity of your following Padmé Amidala around the Corellia system."

"I made Anakin a promise," she reminded him gently. "I don't know what I would have done if the Council had refused permission."

Obi-Wan gave V'ar a look that was so serious that her heart fluttered. "A promise is a sacred thing. Your adherence to it does you credit. But even the most heartfelt promise, made in the emotion of the moment without thought and consideration for its larger implications, can have unimagined consequences. Trust me on this! I'm concerned that you haven't thought this through."

"I trust you." V'ar felt her control slipping. "I trust everything you say, and do, and try to teach me!" she burst out. "I don't want to leave you to deal with this mission alone, don't you know that? But I have to try to get close to Amidala, and to protect her."

"She has enough protection. The whole group does. Why Amidala? And why you?"

"Because… because…" V'ar began, and then stopped. She had tried over and over to explain to him what it had been like to stand next to Anakin and to experience the Force is a completely new way, a way she had no words for. It had been like standing at the center of a vortex of energy and knowing, absolutely _knowing_ in every molecule of her being that the future was not yet fixed, and that the path forward depended on the woman whom Anakin loved. The bond between Anakin and Amidala was so powerful that in that moment, V'ar had experienced it in the Force as a living, pulsing entity. In that overwhelming, eternal moment, she had glimpsed the conflict in Anakin, experienced the dark forces that surrounded him, and she _knew. _Anakin stood at the threshold of the darkness, and only the bond with Amidala held him back.

Her feeble attempt to explain it before the full Council had seemed pathetic to her. And yet the experienced Jedi Masters who had listened so carefully to her description had seemed to understand.

"A vergence," Master Yoda had announced decidedly after a time of contemplation.

"A shatterpoint," Mace had muttered more quietly. But V'ar had heard him.

She didn't think she could explain it any better than she already had before the Council, even to the normally open-minded Obi-Wan. She supposed it was one of those occasions when the truth of a tale depended largely on the experience of the listener. Obi-Wan's reactions tended to be unpredictable whenever the subject of Anakin came up. Still, she tried once last time to explain.

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Obi-Wan. The Force showed me that everything depends on Amidala's safety – and I don't even know what "everything" is! I just know that I need to be there with her." She paused thoughtfully. "Why me? I suppose because I'm the one who happened to get the message from the Force. I guess… I guess it's my time to serve."

There was a long, long silence during which V'ar gradually gave up any lingering hope that she could make Obi-Wan understand. She busied herself with watching the controls and the readouts from the flight computer. It was almost time to make the jump that would take them a short distance from Talus' orbit, and their moment of parting. She tried not to think about how much she would miss working side by side with Obi-Wan, or how much she was probably letting him down.

"You are utterly convinced that the Force has shown you what you need to do?" Obi-Wan said at last, into the lengthening silence.

"Yes." There was no doubt in V'ar's mind.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I hate it when that happens."

Suddenly all was right again in V'ar's world. He _did _understand. It was all she needed.

"You're doing it again," she pointed out fondly when Obi-Wan's hand strayed back to his smooth face. "If you keep touching your face that way, it will be a dead giveaway that you very recently had a beard."

He let out another sigh, a sharper and more irritated one this time, had dropped his hand once and for all. "You're right. Your attention to detail, as always, is admirable. I will keep it in mind."

"I need you to believe in me, Obi-Wan." V'ar whispered. "I need you to have faith in me."

"I do," Obi-Wan reassured her with a quick smile that didn't quite manage to cover up the deep-seated look of worry and sorrow in his eyes. "You are as constant and steady as the stars."

V'ar allowed herself to take pleasure in his compliment, and didn't take the pain that lurked behind his eyes personally. It was always there. And as always, she wondered about it and wished that she could do something…anything…to help take it away. Perhaps now her new mission in the service of the Force would provide her with new opportunities to help him…?

He musings were rudely interrupted by another protesting lurch as Obi-Wan pressed the old freighter into another perfectly executed jump to light speed.

_May the Force be with us_, V'ar thought as the momentary gravity surge flattened back into her seat. _And may it protect Obi-Wan when I'm not there._


	20. Chapter 19 The Road to Nowhere I

**Chapter 19. The Road to Nowhere I**

Sand.

Anakin thought he'd been dreaming about sand.

He roused a little more, just enough to be sure that he was awake. His cheek still ached where the sand had been pelting against his face… but that had been a dream, so why did his face hurt? He turned his head to get his bearings and the side of his face rasped against the metal bands on his ever-present glove.

Well, that explained it. He had fallen asleep hunched over the console in the cockpit of the _Defiance_, with his head on his arms.

Anakin raised his head blearily, which in itself was odd. Normally he moved almost instantly from sleep to wakefulness. But then he remembered having dreamt, which was even odder. And then to have dreamt about something as ordinary as sand…he checked the chrono and the flight computer. He hadn't been asleep for more than a few hours, but it had been enough to give him the feeling that only meditation or a deep sleep can provide – the feeling of having returned from somewhere far away.

He glanced at the holo screen, whose endless colorful imagesflickered in silence. There were no familiar faces being shown, so he didn't bother turning up the sound. He remembered having watched the Refugee Alliance's press conference. He had seen Padmé. He had heard her voice. He had kept watching until there was no hope of seeing more of her, and quickly had silenced the chatter so it didn't drown out the memory of her voice in his head.

And then, at last, he had slept.

Anakin stretched his stiff muscles as best he could in the confined space. Heavy sleep and too little movement had made him groggy, and he needed a clear head. He was about to sneak into the Corellian star system through the far outer reaches, and it was time to plan his next series of moves.

At the moment the images on the Holonet were all of the war. Images of spectacular space battles and massive ground assaults flashed across the screen like scenes from particularly lurid holo-dramas. Not long ago he would have yearned to be in the middle of the fighting. But somehow, gradually, without knowing exactly how it had happened, Anakin had grown to see the war as a vast subterranean conflagration, like a the molten core of a planet, that seethed constantly underneath the ordinary lives of the people on the surface. Battles erupted at the points where that suppressed power could no longer be contained, but that could happen anywhere. Nowhere was safe. Nowhere. Not even the places that seemed to be far from the fighting.

_Come away with me._ Padmé's plea was like a stone in his heart. Where could they go, after all? That seething abyss of conflict and deceit underlay everything, everywhere, so safety…safety was an illusion. Wasn't it?

And yet all he ever tried to do was to keep her safe.

With a heavy heart, Anakin and called up the data he'd been accumulating in the _Defiance's _computer memory banks since he had left the Victorious. Layer upon transparent layer of star charts, defense and communications network maps, trade and transit data came together to form a dense, three-dimensional picture of the star system whose government believed – honestly believed – that if they closed their borders and kept to themselves, their system could remain safely out of the war.

They obviously didn't know that they were perched atop a creeping inferno.

Anakin studied the three-dimensional map he had created. Clusters of data points of varying densities dotted the image, giving a picture of recent events, trends, movements of people and goods. He had brought together not only the data that was available on official records, but every snippet of information he had encountered on his patrol missions with the _Victorious' _task force or overheard in Palpatine's office or in the corridors of the Senate building. Everything he knew, or thought he knew, had been formatted into this three dimensional image. The resulting patterns he suggested that Corellia's supposedly empty, hardly populated outer reaches were harboring as much activity as some of its more populous centers – it just wasn't reflected in any official records. In fact, it almost looked as though the five planets of the Corellia system – the "five brothers" – had been joined by a sixth.

Except it didn't show up on any charts, and it didn't officially exist.

So that was his destination.

For now.

None of the images on the holonet feed looked interesting, but Anakin turned up the sound anyway. He ought to pay better attention. The Refugee Outreach Alliance, while certainly newsworthy, was not getting the non-stop coverage that Padmé had led him to expect. That was worrying. There were long periods when he knew nothing of her or where she was…when anything could happen.

The last he'd heard, Padmé's group was leaving the system's capital of Corellia for Talus, one of the system's twin planets. That brought her a little closer to him, but it was still nowhere near the outer reaches of the system where Anakin could move around more freely with less chance of being recognized. Talus was central to the system and reasonably populous, and Anakin couldn't afford to approach her there. For a lot of reasons.

Anakin glared at the useless holoscreen with a hefty dose of hostility, and then jumped out of the pilot's seat to pace the few steps up and down the Defiance's narrow service corridor.

They should have planned better. They should have been more careful. The thought of playing it by ear, of plunging heedlessly ahead, relying wholly and joyfully on the Force for guidance didn't seem nearly as appealing as it once had. He had good reason to be cautious, to hold back, to watch his back… but Padmé had gone ahead with her plan as though they still lived in the sunny times of _before_.

And yet he had followed her, despite his misgivings. He had followed her because he couldn't do otherwise. She was the only thing he had that kept him alive and breathing and striving.

_Padmé._ The very thought of her warmed him, but it worried him, too. He just wished he could speak to her directly. He hated being out of touch and having to wait for events to unfold into an opportunity…

_… The Office of the supreme Chancellor has announced the formation of a new Senate Committee to investigate charges that the Jedi Order has misused the authority given to it by the Senate…_

Anakin charged back to the cockpit and paid attention. The holonet announcer's face had disappeared and had been replaced by an image of … Obi-Wan Kenobi, shown wearing his usual Jedi robes, standing by a Jedi starfighter, talking to three gray-uniformed Republic Army officers.

Anakin's heart clenched violently and suddenly he felt cold all over.

_… the Chancellor's Office has stated that military intelligence sources differ with the analyses provided by the Jedi.. The Committee will investigate whether possible misapplication of military resources has resulted directly in the unnecessary prolongation of the fighting in the Outer Rim territories…_

Anakin listened intently, but the story didn't seem to be about Obi-Wan directly. It seemed they were using his face to represent the Jedi Order as a whole.

The image changed again to show a series of battle scenes, and then another image of Obi-Wan appeared, in which he was standing next to Mace Windu and several Clone Troopers. The image re-focused to a close-up of Obi-Wan's face. wHis expression was serene, and his steady blue-gray eyes seemed to look straight into Anakin's as he stared at the screen.

_Look at me._

Anakin swallowed. Hard.

_… the much decorated General Kenobi has supported publicly the Jedi Order's insistence that a mysterious "dark power" lies at he heart of the Galactic conflict…  
_  
The back of Anakin's neck prickled, and the faintest sense of darkness trickled icily down his spine. He froze, and then decided to brush it off. It was a memory, nothing more. It was nothing. It was nothing.

The holonet story continued with more images of battles and more discussion of the Jedi, and each time the Order was mentioned, a picture of Kenobi was shown, leaving the subtle impression that the much-decorated General's irresponsible mysticism was somehow to blame for the failure to bring the war to a timely end.

It was breathtaking, just how thoroughly meanings could be twisted. Despite everything, Anakin's instant heartfelt response was resentment at the way that Kenobi was being used to propagate lies. Kenobi might be many things, but he was not a feeble-minded, religion-blinded idiot. It hurt to watch that story. It hurt to remember Kenobi facing off against Palpatine, bright and shining in the lights, calm, logical, honest, and being soundly discredited, while he, Anakin had stood by and watched it happen. To stay safe. To keep Padmé safe, and their unborn child. To keep his bargain.

It hurt to breathe, and his heart wouldn't unclench.

Finally the report ended and Anakin sat back, still staring blankly at the now blurred screen. The holonet's endless stream of words and pictures continued; a new story was being transmitted throughout the Galaxy on the most extensive communications net in existence. The voices and sounds droned on but he didn't really hear them.  
_  
Your focus determines your reality._ Everywhere in the vast and diverse Galaxy, the holonet provided a common point of focus.

Anakin rubbed a tear off the side of his face, and for some reason remembered the feeling that had awoken him, the feeling of being buffeted by the hot sands of his distant home world. An oddly warm sensation took the place of the cold shivers on the back of his neck. It felt good, and kind – it ought to have given him pleasure – but for some reason, it only left him feeling deeply, unspeakably sad.

By the time his eyes cleared again, all the familiar images on the holoscreen had gone, the proximity alarm told him that he was about to enter the Corellia system.

x

"Good luck."

Those were Obi-Wan's only words of farewell.

V'ar smoothed down her unfamiliar clothing and double-checked that her lightsaber was tucked into her small traveling case where she could reach it quickly. It was unfortunate to have to stow it that far away from her hand, but the low-slung garment that flared out from her hips could hardly have hidden a data chip, much less a weapon. The top was no better – its artful hem floated when she moved, and wasn't a useful cover-up.

"I thought we Jedi don't believe in luck?"

"Make your own luck, then." He studied her. "Perhaps you will succeed where I could not."

Obi-Wan's expression was guarded. V'ar decided that he was being deliberately aloof to keep from conveying his disapproval of her new mission – to give her the freedom and the space to do what she believed was right. But it was clear that he still thought it a futile venture. In their long discussions he even had opened up a little about his own experiences – his failures, he had called them dispassionately – with trying to head off Anakin and protect Amidala on Naboo. They had been cautionary tales, told objectively, and yet they had spun a mood of loss and sadness that still lingered in V'ar's heart.

"Have you told me everything?" V'ar had wondered aloud. "I have the sense that there is more…"

"I have told you everything that can help you," Obi-Wan had said quietly. "All that is left are private wounds. You don't need to delve into those. They are not yours to carry. If you go, it is better that you go whole, and unscarred."

"Whose wounds?" V'ar had persisted. "Yours?"

Obi-Wan had looked away. "Mine. Everyone's." He had fallen silent for a long time, and then he had warned her that Padmé Amidala was unlikely to trust a Jedi. "I let her down. We all did, we Jedi. You may find that she is not prepared to trust you, either."

"I'll take my chances, " V'ar had decided, and Obi-Wan had not said another word about it. He had brought her to Talus, where she would have to somehow find access to the Refugee Outreach Alliance delegation and to Amidala. And now it was time to part. For the first time, in the face of Obi-Wan's quiet resignation, V'ar felt uncertain about her plans. Who was she to believe that she might succeed where he had failed?

"Be careful of that old Nav. computer," she said at last, a little awkwardly, because she didn't know what else to say. "It tends to transpose symbols at the worst possible time."

"I will."

"May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan."

"And with you."

Obi-Wan activated the outer hatch of the old freighter. V'ar hesitated for a moment, then stepped out into the receiving bay of a busy space cargo transit station that orbited just beyond Talus' outer atmosphere. She would continue her journey by public shuttle; it wouldn't do for even the clean-shaven Obi-Wan to appear on Talus proper. Besides, he and the old freighter had an appointment to keep.

She turned briefly to say goodbye, but the hatch was already closing. Just as well. They each had a job to do. There was no reason to linger.

V'ar's journey to the surface of the third planet in the Corellia System was unremarkable except for the attention her appearance had drawn from the workers in the cargo facility and the passengers on the shuttle. Apparently, fashionably dressed Twi'lek females normally arrived on the planet via the spaceport, not through some old cargo transit point. She supposed she ought to have worn a disguising outer garment of some kind, but it just hadn't occurred to her. _Lesson learned,_ she thought wryly. _Different ways. Different rules._

The situation was completely different when she arrived at the spaceport and arranged transit to the regional holonet hub in Talus City. In the busy and very cosmopolitan spaceport, a Jedi would have stood out dangerously, while V'ar blended right in with the international crowds. Suddenly, she was very glad for her disguise.

V'ar had been tracking the Refugee Outreach Alliance's itinerary hour by hour, so she was quite certain about her destination. Another press conference was scheduled to take place in the holnet's regional hub quite soon. Following that, the members of the Delegation would disperse to their separate ships and convoys to re-group on Selonia, where they would finally meet some actual refuges rather than the dignitaries and politicians who had commandeered all of their time, and of course, their publicity, thus far. That didn't give V'ar much time to find a plausible way to attach herself to Amidala's group. A wave of anxiety tried to take hold of her, and V'ar quelled it immediately. She had no time for distractions.

The holonet's regional hub on Talus turned out to be a low, squat, almost featureless building at the edge of the city's commercial district. V'ar saw immediately that it was built purely for function. Its low dome no doubt housed the encoding and transmission equipment. Her practiced eye told her that the building's shape and its location, slightly removed from the bustle of the commercial areas beyond, made it relatively easy to protect. She had no doubt that security in and around the unassuming building would rival that of the Senate building itself. HoloNetCorp was vast and powerful, and since the beginning of the war, had guarded its resources with military thoroughness.

V'ar had wondered just how far her brand new identity chip would take her. To her surprise, her false identity as a holonet logistics specialist based at the HoloNetCorp's headquarters on Coruscant got her fairly painlessly through all automated security levels. She was a single checkpoint away from the press assembly point when automated security gave way to a phalanx of Corellian security personnel, all of whom were dismayingly smart, efficient, and it seemed, constitutionally inclined to be suspicious in a way that no droid could.

"Your credentials check out, but we have no record that you have been assigned to the Outreach Alliance team," a stubborn screener insisted.

"Of course not," V'ar insisted just as adamantly while she tried to adjust to the jolting heave in the Force that always happened when a lie was told. "That's because I wasn't originally assigned to it. I was diverted from my assignment in the Kuat system because headquarters is tired of the mess-ups in the scheduling." V'ar endeavored to look haughty and intimidating. "So they sent me to fix it."

The heavy-set Corellian glared at V'ar balefully. "It's not in my records."

V'ar leaned forward and returned her glare. "Check your updates."

"It's not in my updates, either."

V'ar sent a silent apology to the Force. "Then I have to talk to your supervisor now!" she demanded. The press conference is starting soon and if I don't get in to see the documentary crew before it starts, heads will roll. Count on it."

Maybe she sounded convincing enough, or maybe the screening inspector was just tired of dealing with her. After a moment's consideration the inspector picked up her comm. unit and made a call. V'ar used the respite to try to quiet the heaving in her gut. Lying _hurt_. This was the furthest thing from working as a Jedi, and she didn't like it one bit.

Time was getting shorter, too. The press conference was scheduled to start almost immediately.

At last V'ar and the suspicious screener were approached by a hurrying figure, a squat human whose Force signature radiated anxiety and irritation.

V'ar's tormentor smiled unpleasantly. "Perhaps your details are familiar to the News Director. You can explain yourself to his First Assistant now."

"I have no time for this!" the new arrival whined. "The press conference is about to begin!" He glared at V'ar. "Who are you?"

V'ar smiled at the newcomer. Anxiety was always useful as long as it was other people who were anxious.

"I'm the logistics consultant that headquarters sent," she suggested firmly, ignoring another twinge in her stomach. "You're here to escort me into the press room."

"…the logistics consultant that headquarters sent," the man repeated, frazzled. "I'm here to… escort you into the press room."

V'ar's suspicious tormentor looked from the man back to V'ar, and scowled. "Hey, wait!" she protested. "She's not on any of the lists!"

V'ar sidled closer to the First Assistant Director, who was clearly the weaker-minded of the two. "We've been expecting her," she whispered forcefully.

"We've been expecting her," the man repeated obediently, beginning to look a little frantic.

"Oh, forget it. Do what you want. It's your neck," the security screener snapped, irritated. More new arrivals had come up behind them and the security checkpoint was filling up. Evidently V'ar had won this round, at the cost of only a hostile glare from her rightfully suspicious tormentor, and a very bad feeling in the Force that was entirely of her own making.

"Let's hurry," she urged her escort, taking him firmly by the arm. They were both up against a deadline. Fortunately the First Assistant Director took that suggestion as earnestly as he had her others, and led V'ar rapidly through more automated checkpoints and finally, into a large room full of milling, chattering, arguing, very fashionably dressed people. The throng reminded V'ar depressingly of the Chancellor's Reception, and she had to take a deep clarifying breath before she thanked her escort and moved into the melee. She had come far, but she wasn't where she needed to be yet.

Dressed as she was, V'ar fit right in, at least on the surface. But the urbane company in the room obviously all knew one another well, and she was a stranger. Still, she was a stranger on the arm of the First Assistant Director. Everyone she passed by looked at her curiously and appraisingly, not the way the security people had, but as though they were checking out a rival or a usurper. These were the journalists and technicians who were following the Alliance delegation around, snapping constantly at their heels and always keeping them in the lights. It was their story, and V'ar understood instantly that they would guard their domain jealously.

She looked around quickly to get her bearings before someone challenged her right to be there. This room was an outer chamber; the Delegation members were nowhere to be seen. They must have gathered in an adjoining room, and that's where V'ar needed to be.

"In here," she urged her hapless companion. Looking like a disheveled sleepwalker, he waved a security chip at the door and it opened into a brightly lit lounge full of chairs and long sofas and bright lights and holo-transmission equipment and… numerous Senators.  
_  
Thank the Force_, V'ar thought, even though she wasn't quite sure how to proceed. The only reply she got from the Force was an aching stomach. How did more experienced Jedi Knights deal with the need to do this much lying? She was trying to decide what to say to the First Assistant director, who was now looking at her as though he had never seen her before in his life, when a tall, black-haired Senator on the far side of the room caught her attention.

Bail Organa. Perfect! He knew her as a Jedi, and he had every reason to be discrete about their connection…_ Thank the Force!_ V'ar thought again, sincerely. Remembering also to thank her by now thoroughly confused escort, she left him staring after her and picked her way around people, equipment and furniture toward the Senator from the Alderaan System. When she was halfway there he looked up, as though he had sensed something.

Their eyes met. V'ar kept walking toward him. Senator Organa watched her approach.

_Steady,_ she reminded herself. _Steady and calm._

"V'ar Taanil," she re-introduced herself when she reached him. "The Holonet News Service sent me as logistics coordinator." Organa's face didn't show any surprise, but his eyes widened ever so slightly. "Apparently there have been some scheduling problems, and my job is to put the schedule back on track."

And then she held her breath…

"We are grateful for your assistance," Organa said easily, "although I'm not certain where the problem areas lie."

…and let it back out again.

V'ar was amazed. He was smooth, all right – he hadn't hesitated at all. No wonder Obi-Wan thought highly of him and trusted him. "I'll need some of your time to discuss it," she said immediately. "Perhaps after the press conference?"

Organa bowed graciously. "I will arrange the opportunity."

V'ar noticed suddenly that her stomach felt better. She was still spouting untruths, but as soon as she'd connected with Organa, the pressure had eased. It was curious, but there wasn't time to reflect on it now. V'ar glanced around the room. Organa's acknowledgement hadn't hurt her status among the journalists who were now streaming into the room through the wide-open door, either. Their glances held more respect now. With Organa to vouch for her, no one else would question her right to be there.

"Thank you," V'ar breathed.

"I assume it's important," he murmured.

"I'll explain as soon as I can."

A small figure appeared at Organa's side, and V'ar found herself looking into the enquiring eyes of the Senator from the Naboo System. Organa leaned down to whisper something to Amidala. V'ar thought she discerned the word "Jedi," but she was completely unprepared for the shock and… pain? Was it pain?… that registered in the woman's eyes at the word.

Obi-Wan's dispassionate stories came flooding back to her, and V'ar suddenly understood what had been missing from them – what he had left out. The events on Naboo, and before – the events that had ultimately brought Anakin, and Amidala, and Obi-Wan, and all the others who had been involved to _this_ time and _this _place ran deep with the pain that V'ar glimpsed in Amidala's eyes. It was the same pain that she often had seen in Obi- Wan's eyes, and in Anakin's. She didn't need to infer it; she felt it as the Force gathered around her in a mighty whorl of context and meaning and significance so powerful and so agonizing that she wondered whether she would every truly grasp all of its implications. And the consequences… events that rent the Force with such depth of feeling had to have terrible consequences. What had she let herself in for?  
_  
Obi-Wan tried to warn me…_

The Force nudged her and whispered to her and opened her inner eyes.

Involuntarily V'ar took a step back, breathing deeply to maintain her equilibrium.  
_  
By all the Gods. No wonder Anakin is mad with worry._

"My Lady," she murmured to Amidala when she was able to speak, "I promised Anakin that I would look out for you. If you will allow me to."

The look in Amidala's eyes changed profoundly. V'ar saw sudden light and hope, but it was mixed with layers of doubt and disbelief. It was as Obi-Wan had said. She had her work cut out for her if she was going to earn Amidala's trust.

V'ar wondered who else knew that Amidala was pregnant.


	21. Chapter 20 The Road to Nowhere II

**Chapter 20. The Road to Nowhere II **

"Unidentified ship, state yer cargo and destination."

Anakin woke up so fast that by the time he was fully conscious he already was back in the cockpit cursing fluently in a language he hadn't used for years.  
_  
This is absolutely the last time I fall asleep_, he thought bitterly as he scanned for the source of the transmission. _Ever. It's just not worth it._

Why hadn't the proximity alarms gone off? He'd rigged them to detect anything within a huge perimeter, so that for once – just once – he could stretch out on the bunk in the sleeping cabin aft. In fact, some debris had triggered those alarms a few hours before, and he'd woken instantly. How was that at a ship… he glared at the sensors… _a Corellian Security cruiser!_… could have gotten this close to him without being detected?

It didn't occur to him that he was thinking as well as cursing in Huttese until he decided he'd better return the hail, and had to make a conscious effort to speak in Basic. Odd. He never thought in Huttese any more. Had he been dreaming again?

Anakin opened a voice-only comm. link. "Private yacht _Defiance_, out of … he hesitated, while balancing on one foot to get the other one into the leg of his pants, "… out of the Outer Rim Territories." Why not? He could easily pass for a resident of any number of Outer Rim planets. "No cargo," he added as his foot hit the floor with a thump. "Just passing through." He fastened his pants and pulled his shirt over his head._ Keep it informal, in character._ "Who are you?"

The Corellian ship was hardly a tiny dot on his viewscreen but the transmission was strong. Anakin could have sworn he heard a muffled snicker at the other end.

"Hold fast, private yacht _Defiance_. We will approach yer."

_Blast, Blast, BLAST!_ How could this happen to him? Of all people? The _Defiance_ should have been completely undetectable by normal means.

He thought briefly about blowing the Corellian ship into dust and running, but caution and curiosity stayed his hand. Pirates masqueraded as Corellian Security with boring regularity. He might be able to turn the situation to his advantage. Whoever they were, maybe they knew something he didn't.

Resolving to stay in character, whatever happened, Anakin ran his fingers through his hair and checked the entire vessel yet again for anything that could identify him or his true origins, or that could interest either Security or pirates. Of course there was nothing. The only valuable thing on the ship, aside from her weapons, was the data he had so carefully loaded into the ships nav. computer, and he'd destroy the Defiance before he'd let any intruders get that. In the sleeping cabin he grabbed his lightsaber, clipped it to his belt and pulled on an overtunic to hide it. By the time he got back to the cockpit the ship was clearly visible on the viewscreen.

There was nothing to do but wait. Since he was no longer hiding Anakin switched on the holonet feed and was gratified to learn that he could capture the transmissions even way out here. He turned up the sound when he saw the image of Senator Bel Iblis' face out of the corner of his eye. Apparently the Refugee Outreach Alliance representatives were on their way to their next destination... Anakin checked his chrono for confirmation … but Senator Bel Iblis would not participate in that portion of the trip because he had urgent business elsewhere. Anakin bristled at this unannounced change in plan, and wondered how it would affect Padmé and the security around her. He glared impatiently out the viewscreen. How long would this little encounter with the Corellians – or whoever they were – take?

"Private yacht_ Defiance _(was that another snort of mockery?), approach at the following vector …" A series of coordinates appeared on Anakin's nav. computer screen. "… an' prepare to be brought aboard our ship."

What? That wasn't standard procedure.

Anakin leaned forward to check the approaching ship's provenance. It showed up as registered to Corellian Security.  
_  
I'll see you in the seventh hell first._ "No thanks," he said mildly, through gritted teeth. "Tell me what you want and I'll be on my way."

"Sorry, sunshine. Nobody gets through here without stoppin' for a chat."

Too casual for Corellian Security. Anakin crossed his arms and leaned back in the pilot's seat again, probably to keep his fingers from creeping towards the weapons controls.

"Not possible. I never talk to strangers."

"Y'er the stranger, sunshine. We control this sector. Now, hop aboard."

_But there's nothing in this sector… _suddenly Anakin thought to punch up another nav. screen. The one with his personally created star charts.

There. According to his own calculations, he had arrived in the sector that wasn't there while he slept.

All of a sudden, Anakin no longer was a lone traveler in an empty sector of space. He was one with the Force, and with the singular control that he had learned from months of practicing the flame meditation, Anakin twisted the Force to his personal intent. He _was_ space, and he became the particles in the transmission beams that crossed it. He was one with the Defiance, he throbbed with the beat of her engines, and he pulsed with the oxygen that his body breathed. He was the dust inside and the stardust outside. He shot his awareness into the Corellian ship. He sensed feelings and intentions. He counted the individuals on board. And he found…  
_  
…well, what do you know…_

More slowly than he'd launched his awareness into the Force, Anakin came back to himself. He breathed deeply and stretched his shoulders. Then slowly, almost lazily, he reached forward to enable the visual comm. link.

"I never was here," he drawled to the familiar, tanned, creased human face that appeared on his comm. screen. "And you never saw me."

The man looked back at him out of eyes that looked uncannily pale even though the normal distortions of the transmission. A short pause ensued, during which Anakin felt himself being thoroughly scrutinized. He stared back. Hard. But one corner of his mouth felt like it was trying to smile.

"Same old, same old, eh, Big Man?" the man on the Corellian ship said at last. "I always knew we'd meet up again."

Keinan Pell. Former Captain of Senate Security, until he'd vanished one day, presumably to become a mercenary. He'd achieved his rank thanks to Anakin's personal intervention. Intelligent man. Efficient. Experienced. A player. Loyal as long as it served his personal needs, but knew how to keep a bargain. For those reasons Anakin had trusted him when he'd needed help badly, and Pell hadn't let him down.

He wondered whether he could trust him again.

"Still a ranking Captain, Pell? Or are you playing for a private team now?" Pell would make a pretty good pirate. A very good one, in fact.

Keinan Pell's face broke out into a huge smile. "I'm legit, Big Man. Corellian Security, at y'er service. Still a Captain, but now y'er here, I'd like to talk to yer about that. Good thing yer stopped by."

Anakin's grin broke loose. "What makes you think I'm in a position to help you?"

"It must be that luxury yacht yer flyin'..."

Anakin laughed. "It'll cost you."

"Don't it always? Why don't yer hop aboard finally and we'll talk it over?"

"Depends," Anakin said lazily, "on whether you ever saw me here."

Pell's eyes narrowed. "An' if I did?"

Anakin let his overtunic fall open and shifted a bit so the hilt of his lightsaber would appear in Pell's screen. Pell had last known him as a rogue Jedi, and the little man had understood just how dangerous that made him. Anakin didn't see any reason to disabuse him of the notion.

"I never saw yer or that fancy 'private yacht' of y'ers." There was definitely muffled laughter in the background.

Good enough. For now. Anakin began to steer the _Defiance_ toward the Corellian cruiser. "You going to offer me breakfast, Pell? I'm starving."

"Mebbe. Y'er stoppin', then?"

"You're the one who ordered me on board, Captain Pell. I hear and obey."

"That'll be the day," Pell chortled just before the visual transmission went dark and the Corellian cruiser's tractor beam locked onto the _Defiance_.

Anakin checked his chrono again and went to find his boots, hoping that Corellians believed in eating huge breakfasts.

x

_A little peace… at last._

The Viceroy of Alderaan slumped against the plain white wall panels of the conference room on the _Tantive IV_, silently celebrating the decision that the Refugee Outreach Alliance members would travel separately to their next destination. He tried to remember who had originally proposed it. Had it been Padmé? Yes, it must have been – he remembered her quiet but relentless insistence on traveling separately. He remembered wondering why.

He had argued against it at the time; separating the group had seemed unnecessarily risky, and exacerbated the Alliance Delegation's already convoluted security problems. But he appreciated her foresight now. Padmé was more experienced than any of them in living a life without quiet or privacy. She must have known just how precious even a brief opportunity for both would be.

Bless her.

Bail was grateful for the silence, the soft half-light, and the chance to be alone. He had remained behind after the day's staff briefing; the possibility of having to talk to even one more person on the way to his quarters had kept him here long after the others had left. For some reason he had found himself slouching against this solid, cool wall.

_Stand up straight! _his grandmother's voice said irritably in his mind. _You're a Prince and a leader. You must always keep yourself in hand, even when you are alone._

_When do I ever not?_ Bail wondered dourly, but with reflexive obedience he straightened a little and pressed his back against the wall, allowing it to support his spine. He relished the feeling of being supported, of having something solid behind him.

The HoloNetCorp's producers had objected to the Delegation's temporary split-up, of course. One of the producers had thrown a temper tantrum, screaming about not having enough crew to divide among all the members of the Alliance group. Padmé had handled that dispute, too, by inviting the entire holonet crew to join her on her Yacht and to follow her movements until the Alliance delegation re-grouped at the refugee colony on the outlier planet Esh-Col in two day's time. The producers had jumped at the offer. Padmé and her Handmaidens were very photogenic, and always seemed to get the most coverage anyway.

Bail frowned, remembering. Padmé's willingness to accept the burden of becoming the sole focus of the holonet documentary had surprised him, considering how exhausted she already was. The other delegation members who didn't know her as well, or care about her as much, had accepted instantly, and run. But Bail cared, and he worried for her.

Then there was the matter of the Jedi's sudden appearance.

Bail had offered to allow Jedi Taanil to accompany him, not merely to relieve Padmé of part of her burden, but because he wanted to cross-examine her. He had found young V'ar's brief explanation of her sudden and unannounced appearance – that the Jedi Council had concerns about the Delegation's security arrangements, and she was there to bolster them – unconvincing, to say the least. Security was without a doubt an ongoing headache. Yet while the Delegation had seven members, it was Padmé who seemed to have the young Jedi's full attention.

Bail didn't understand why.

The Jedi were in partnership with the secret opposition group, not the Refugee Outreach Alliance, and Padmé was no longer part of the secret group. In fact, Bail had worked hard to ensure that for her own safety, Padmé knew nothing about the opposition group's plans and activities. Bel Iblis, on the other hand, was central to the opposition's efforts; in fact, he had gone off to meet with Kenobi. Why didn't V'ar protect him?

_More to the point, if she's protecting the opposition group, why didn't she insist on staying with you, boy? If anything happens to you, all these plots fall apart. _Bail felt himself slumping again, and pressed his back more firmly against the wall to stay upright. By all the ancient gods of Alderaan, he was weary.

But no, V'ar Taanil had made it clear that she wanted to remain with Padmé, and in the end, Padmé had allowed the young Jedi to accompany her, too.

Poor Padmé. She surely wasn't going to get any peace. So why do it?

_It doesn't add up, does it, boy? _

Bail rubbed his face with both hands. There were a great many things that didn't add up, but at the moment none of them bothered him as much as the prospect that Padmé was once again overshadowed by an unknown threat. It was the only explanation for the Jedi's appearance.

With the renewed energy that comes from having made a decision, Bail pushed himself away from the wall and toward the conference room's holo-projector. For now, he'd have to entrust Padmé's immediate physical safety to her well-armed security detail and to the Jedi. But there were other kinds of threats. Despite his fundamental opposition to death and destruction as a way of resolving differences, and his devotion to the political path to conflict resolution, Bail understood better than most that in times of crisis, politics was just another kind of war, which required the use of a different set of weapons.

The arsenal of a peace-loving system was information. If he didn't have it, he could get it. Bail's private intelligence service was second to none in the Galaxy.

Confident in the security of his transmission device, Bail took the bold step of contacting his assistant, Aeron, directly. When the young man's intelligent face and shock of light hair finally appeared in a wavering image after the usual long pause for signal encryption, Bail's tension eased a little. Here, at last, was someone he could count on.

"How is your journey proceeding, Viceroy Organa?"

Bail sighed. "It's every bit as enjoyable as being herded into an arena and goaded relentlessly by malicious animals."

"In other words, Sir, it is going exactly as you had expected."

"Just so." Bail took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Aeron, I need you to do something for me. "I want to know if there is even the slightest hint anywhere of a threat against Padmé Amidala."

"A threat, Sir? What kind of threat?"

"That's the problem, Aeron. I don't know. She is well guarded personally, but I'm wondering what else might be afoot anywhere, in any arena that affects her or her government. I want you to keep an eye on the Naboo Delegation – messages, activities, visitors, gossip. Especially gossip. I don't yet know what I'm looking for, so look at everything."

"Much of that kind of information is proprietary, Sir," Aeron pointed out primly.

Bail stared at him. "So it is."

"So, you are authorizing me to… "

"… to do whatever it takes, yes, Aeron. If anyone breathes a word against Padmé Amidala, if anything at all happens that affects her in any way, I want to know about it."

"That's a tall order, Sir."

"Indulge me."

"Don't I always, Sir?"

"That's why you're the best-paid assistant in the Senate."

Even in the static-filled holo-image, Bail could see the young man draw himself up stiffly. "That is not why I do it, Sir! You know…"

Bail smiled. "Yes, Aeron. I know. And I'm grateful. That's all for now."

When the transmission had ended, Bail finally felt able to face the rest of his obligations. At last he left the conference room and made his way back to his quarters, greeting everyone he encountered on the way with his usual equable courtesy. Even his Grandmother's voice had nothing more to add.

x

Anakin didn't know whether it was true of the Corellia system as a whole, but the Officer's Mess on Pell's ship, the _Providence_, certainly knew how to feed hungry soldiers. Anakin ate his fill and then some. When he was finally sated, he leaned back in his seat and contemplated his companion. Pell had declined breakfast, and had waited patiently for Anakin to finish. He seemed to know when not to chat. The officers who drifted in and out of the mess, and whose curious glances at their Captain and his guest couldn't be contained, also seemed to know when not to interrupt.

"You're not Corellian Security," Anakin asserted finally.

"Oh, aye?" Pell remained unruffled. "What makes yer say that?"

"Where to begin?" Anakin countered ironically. "Aside from the fact that you're not in uniform – he pointed at Pell's colorful, casual garb – what about your charming and surely not regulation way of greeting unknown travelers? 'Sunshine', was it? You didn't know it was me at first, Pell, so I assume it's how you say 'hello' to all the travelers who stray though here."

"It's all part of the service."

"And then of course there's your ship's name. _Providence. _It has such a military ring to it."

Pell shrugged.

Anakin glanced around the well-ordered mess. Two Sullustians and a Rodian at a nearby table also wore informal clothing, but Anakin could see that they wore insignias tacked onto them almost as an afterthought, and that he was looking at two lieutenants and something else he couldn't make out.

"Then there's the minor detail that I haven't seen a Corellian on board yet."

"There's a few," Pell said peacefully. "Not many, but some."

"Not to mention," Anakin went on, "that there's nothing out here that would require Security patrols. Nothing official, anyway."

"Yet here yer are, Big Man, sneakin' around the edges of a place that's got nothin' goin' on. We caught yer, didn't we?"

Anakin leaned forward. "Now, that's what really bothers me. I had my ship rigged with every known method, and a few new ones I invented, to keep from being found. How did you do it?"

"We specialize in findin' people," Pell said with maddening vagueness. "In fact, yer might say it's our mission."

"Your mission." Anakin could feel the heat of frustration rise into his gut. If it got as far as his face, Pell was in trouble. Anakin quickly took steps to calm himself down. After all, this was why he liked Pell, wasn't it? The man not only was as tenacious as a Jawa sniffing out a bargain, but he absolutely refused to be intimidated.

This time Pell leaned forward. "Why are yer here, Big Man? Yer still workin' for _him_, or are yer on yer own?"

Anakin leaned in even closer. There wasn't much space left between their noses. "Why does it matter? Either way, whether I'm on my own or whether I'm working for the Supreme Chancellor, I'll find out everything I need to know. You can't stop me, you know that. The way I see it, you have no choice but to let me in on what exactly is going on here."

Whatever reaction Anakin had expected from Pell, he wasn't prepared for the one he got. Something shifted in the little man – something so profound that the Force around them began to vibrate as though it had taken on an ionic charge. Pell dropped his hard-edged banter. A different light appeared in his eyes, a soulful light that was more than a little tinged with sadness.

"Do yer believe in anything, Big Man?" he asked softly. "I mean, do yer believe in anything that's bigger than yerself?"

Anakin sat back abruptly, as if he had been shocked.

"What do you mean?"

When Pell, too, leaned back in his chair, the gesture was very different. It was slower, more deliberate, the act of a man who was settling firmly into himself. "When I left the Senate Security Force, I weren't loyal to anyone but myself. I went lookin' fer work as a mercenary, like I told yer then I would, an' I didn't care who it was that hired me. I would'a changed sides fer the right price, yer know?"

Anakin nodded tersely.

"As luck had it," Pell went on, "I heard about an openin' right in Corellia. Somethin' I hadn't heard of before." He looked at Anakin significantly. "Somethin' nobody had heard of before. Somethin' new."

"Go on," Anakin ordered.

Pell ignored his tone. "We're Corellian Security, all right. They're the ones who pay us. But yer might say we're a kind of … special branch."

"What kind of …"

"We have a free hand. We hire our own people. We got our own rules."

"Pell, so help me, if you don't tell me…"

The little man held up his hand.

"I can tell yer a lot of things, but it's not the same as showin' yer."

"Showing me what?" Anakin's fingers played lightly against the tabletop, but in his mind, they were dancing on the hilt of his lightsaber, so there was little difference. Pell glanced down at those fingers and then back into Anakin's eyes.

"Come with me." He stood up. Anakin reluctantly followed.

Pell gestured to the watchful officers at the other table, who immediately jumped up to follow their Captain. "Tell the bridge to take us in," Pell ordered one of the Lieutenants, who saluted smartly and hurried ahead. Once in the corridor, the other two officers fell into step behind Pell and Anakin. Even though it was all very informal, it gave Anakin the unpleasant feeling of being marched somewhere he didn't want to go. He did want very much to find out what Pell was being so mysterious about; he just didn't like not being in charge.

"Where are we going?" Anakin snapped, to make himself feel better.

"To the Bridge," Pell said reasonably.

"I mean the ship," Anakin snarled.

"Nowhere," Pell said, in all seriousness. The Rodian behind him snuffled with suppressed amusement, adding to Anakin's increasingly bad mood. He reverted to stony, hostile silence until they reached the bridge.

Anakin looked at the viewscreen. There was nothing to be seen but wide-open space.

"Disengage the shield signals," Pell ordered.

The viewscreen clouded briefly with what looked like signal overload, and then all at once it cleared. Anakin gasped with surprise. There, right in front of them, where before there had been nothing at all, was the largest flotilla of space vehicles that he had ever seen. It was quite probably the biggest flotilla of space vehicles that had ever gathered anywhere. There had to be thousands of vehicles of all shapes, sizes and registries, neatly arranged and stacked into a semi-orderly cluster the size of a small city. Anakin realized that his mouth was hanging open, and closed it quickly because he couldn't think of a thing to say. All he could do was to take it all in as the vast construct loomed larger and larger in the viewscreen, revealing details that surprised him again and again.

_Hiding in plain sight. _This place had been here all along. It had to have been 'hidden' by a complex series of cloaking devices that bent light without generating a detectable energy fluctuation.

Pell didn't interrupt Anakin's stunned silence. He busied himself giving the pilots their orders, and then stood by silently until Anakin finally gasped out, "What is this place?"

"It dern't have a real name. But everyone's taken to callin' it 'Nowhere.'

Anakin looked at him.

"I weren't mockin' yer, Big Man. I know better 'n that." He sent a hard glance toward his sheepish comms. officers. "Even though some always get a kick out of it all."

The ships were from everywhere in the Galaxy.

_Everywhere. _

Ships that had originated in CIS territories were tucked peacefully in between vessels from the Republic systems that he had recently patrolled with the _Victorious_ and its task force, and beyond. Anakin could understand why ships from the Separatist Systems might want to flee into Republic space, but why were the ships out of the star systems that belonging to the Republic hiding out here? Surely they needed only to move to another part of the Republic if they wanted to flee the fighting?

Pell seemed to know what he was thinking. "They're fleein' the war, not just the Separatists. A lot of 'em figure it en't safe anywhere, at least not fer much longer."

They slipped closer to the city space, close enough for Anakin to make out that the spaces between the ships were being used as traffic lanes, as smaller shuttle craft traveled freely between and among the larger vessels.

"So they're all refuges?"

"Aye."

The _Providence _entered the city via a wide thoroughfare that had been left between vessels, and heading inside toward the center of the mighty flotilla. Anakin's head spun with questions as he identified ships from one star system after another.

"How do they all know to come here?"

Pell smiled. "Word passes. Yer'd be amazed how quickly, an' how quietly. That's where we come in." He gestured around the Bridge at the officers and crew, who represented a wide range of races and species. "These folks know more or less where to come, but nobody knows the exact location of Nowhere. So our mission is ter spread our nets wide an' catch 'em as they come through." He shot a glance at Anakin. "We can detect anything that comes into our space. Then we bring 'em aboard and decide whether it's safe to pass 'em on, or else we send 'em on their way."

Anakin shook his head in disbelief. "You can't be serious. The minute you let someone go, word will spread like wildfire."

Pell shrugged. "We have our ways. We're good at what we do." He compressed his lips tightly, and his light tone disappeared. "Because it matters."

Anakin watched the _Providence's_ progress through the maze of ships in awe for a while longer. She seemed to be steering toward some kind of a huge ship near the center of the flotilla. Anakin looked closely… yes, it was of Corellian manufacture and registry.

"That's kinda the heart of Nowhere. It's got services – medical, social, information – gathern' places. The Corellian government set it all up, an' their representatives are based here. Yer know. It's sorta the city center."

Every statement Pell made raised a thousand questions. Anakin struggled with them for a while, and finally settled on the one he wanted most to ask. "Why did you show me this?"

"Because, Big Man, it's like yer said. If yer set yer mind ter it, yer'll find out anyway. So I wanted yer ter see it first through my eyes."

Anakin looked at Pell with interest, almost as though he'd never seen him before.

"And what do you see when you look at it, Pell?"

Pell turned back to the viewscreen watched his ship's approach into the docking bay of the vast Corellian starship. "I see a lot of people who want ter have a future, Big Man. Families with kids, who want ter see 'em grow up. People who know what's important. Who've run away from the meaningless slaughter, but who'll fight fer what's right."

"And what is right, Pell?" Anakin asked softly.

"Peace. Freedom. The chance ter live their lives as they please."

Anakin didn't say anything while the cruiser landed softly in the docking bay.

Pell gave the orders to secure the vessel and power down. Silent and still, Anakin waited out the long interval until docking procedures were completed and the Bridge had emptied of all the other personnel. When he and Pell were alone at last, he quietly asked the little man whom he once thought he had known, "and will you let me go?"

That depends, Big Man," Pell said, looking Anakin straight in the eye.

"It depends on what?" Anakin spoke softly, evenly.

"On whether yer a man with a heart."

Aside from Padmé's, Anakin hadn't confronted eyes that shone with conviction, as Pell's did at that moment, for a very long time.

Perhaps for that reason, he was the one who looked away first.


	22. Chapter 21 Old Friends

**Chapter 21. Old Friends, New Terrain**

Left waiting in a plush cabin on Garm Bel Iblis' personal cruiser for the Senator to finally arrive, Obi-Wan caught himself stroking his chin yet again. He smiled to himself when he imagined the quick, knowing look V'ar might have shot him when she noticed the gesture. She always noticed such things. He dropped his hand back into his lap – _all right, young V'ar; you win_ – but not before confirming, with some satisfaction, the light rasp of the stubble that already was beginning to make itself felt. Even that little bit of growth made him feel less exposed.

Silly, that such a small, personal thing should matter to him at all. But then, it was the small things that invariably did matter.

Making a conscious effort not to touch his face, hestared out the viewing port at infinite, empty space. The streamlined Corellian ship was luxuriously quiet at any time. When she was holding her position in a controlled glide, as she was now, the cabin was as silent as a sanctuary. Even the occasional firing of the stabilizing thrusters hardly could be felt.

Obi-Wan was not unhappy that Bel Iblis had left him waiting for hours. With nothing to do but to rest his body in a dangerously comfortable chair, he seized the opportunity to rest his mind in the peaceful no-thought of light meditation, only occasionally returning to full consciousness to survey his surroundings. He knew long before he heard deep voices and the heavy tramp of multiple boots in the corridor outside, that Bel Iblis finally had arrived.

The cabin door slid open for the first time in hours without a pause for even a discreet knock. Obi-Wan swiveled around in his generous, comfortable armchair just as the burly Corellian Senator stepped inside without ceremony or apology. The door whispered shut again just as quickly, shutting out the heavily armed Security officers who had gathered in the corridor beyond.

Bel Iblis stopped just inside the cabin door when he saw Obi-Wan, and scowled. "I thought you were older."

It took a moment for Obi-Wan to realize that Bel Iblis had never seen him without his beard.

"I am old enough."

Bel Iblis shrugged. "Don't get too comfortable, Kenobi. This is just a way station. Your ship is secure in our cargo bay for the moment."

Obi-Wan stood up with a silken movement that hardly even parted the air. "Where are we going?"

"To meet some people. My shuttle is waiting for us."

Obi-Wan had no idea why Bel Iblis insisted on being mysterious, but he resolved to be patient. The Senator was making an enormous effort not to reveal how disturbed he was about something. "I thought our meeting was intended to be clandestine. Won't traveling in your shuttle be a bit obvious? My ship has the advantage of anonymity."

Bel Iblis sudden grin completely transformed his face, making him look almost approachable. Almost. "Don't need it. As it happens, right now my personal shuttle is a Security Service patrol ship."

"And that's not obvious?"

Bel Iblis activated the door again. "Depends which Security service. This one is exactly what we need."

Indeed, the five soldiers who re-grouped around Obi-Wan and his host as they strode down the cruiser's long main corridor wore ordinary clothing rather than uniforms, although their discreet insignias identified them as members of the Corellian Security forces.

"What about the supplies on board my vessel?"

"They will be transported over for donation to the refugees later. Drop in the bucket, anyway. They were mostly for show, in case you got stopped by someone else."

"That seems wasteful," Obi-Wan couldn't resist observing on the way down in the lift to the docking bay.

"I have … _we have_…" Bel Iblis rephrased pointedly, "bigger problems right now than providing a few more supplies. Much bigger problems."

"I brought weapons."

"I wish our problems could be solved by a few shipments of blasters," Bel Iblis tossed over his shoulder as the lift doors opened and he hurried out into a spacious docking bay.

Obi-Wan couldn't immediately identify the ship Bel Iblis had referred to as his shuttle, because it was docked alongside, with its open passenger hatch locked onto their cruiser's. Inside the attached ship's wide-open passenger bay he glimpsed more non-uniformed crew. None of them looked Corellian. A small, redheaded man, to whom the other crewmembers deferred, waited just inside the hatch to greet them.

"Welcome aboard, Senator."

"Captain." Bel Iblis strode on board without bothering to introduce Obi-Wan, but as he followed his host into the docked ship, Obi-Wan realized that he didn't need an introduction. He had met this man before, in the Senate building on Coruscant. The man had been a Captain then, too; a Captain in the Senate's security force, at the same time when Anakin had worked security for the Supreme Chancellor. Even then, they never had been formally introduced, except in the most rudimentary way. Obi-Wan recalled having held his lightsaber to the little man's throat, demanding to know Anakin's whereabouts. As far as Obi-Wan remembered, the little man had been very, very reluctant to betray Anakin. _Very_ reluctant.

Hence, the lightsaber.

Obi-Wan wondered whether the Captain would remember him, now that he was beardless and casually dressed. In his experience, it was difficult to forget the eyes of a man who has threatened your life.

"Captain," he acknowledged politely, while searching the other man's pale, pale eyes for any sign of recognition. But it was difficult to tell; the Captain was very good at masking his thoughts and feelings.

"Welcome aboard, Sir," the little man said, without the slightest telltale inflection.

It was curious, this meeting. It raised all kinds of questions. Obi-Wan resolved to be doubly cautious.

"Are they here on board?" Bel Iblis asked his Captain.

"Nossir. We thought they'd be better off in Center City. It's more secure."

"We can only hope," Bel Iblis muttered under his breath. "Take us in, Captain. No time to waste."

"Aye, Sir." The little Captain gave the order for the hatch bay door to be closed, and as Obi-Wan followed his host into a service corridor on the Captain's ship, he heard the docking mechanism disengage as soon as the outer hatch had groaned shut. Bel Iblis really was in a hurry.

"What has happened?" he asked Bel Iblis quietly.

"News," the tall Senator growled. "News from beyond the Outer Rim. I want you to hear it for yourself."

x

It was the water that rooted Anakin to the spot; the abundance of flowing, splashing, and burbling water, as it bounced and shimmered over the many graceful basins of the fountain that dominated the heart of the arboretum. The top of the fountain was higher than Anakin was tall; if he stood close enough and leaned over the lowest basin, he could feel the fine spray on his face. He had been hovering there for a long time, utterly unable to leave and to continue his explorations of the City Center, as Pell had called it. Anakin's head and shoulders were already covered with a fine mist, but somehow he couldn't get enough of the sound and the sense of splashing water.

Or perhaps he just couldn't get enough of the memories and feelings it evoked.

A fountain. In an arboretum, ringed by gardens. It had been such an unexpected thing to find at the heart of a vast space ship in the middle of an even vaster agglomeration of ships, somewhere on the outskirts of the Corellian Star System, in the middle of a bitter Galactic civil war. Left to his own devices when Pell had dropped him off on his own while he hurried away on another mission, Anakin had been drawn to this place, many levels below the public spaces in which he had begun his explorations, just by the scent of water and of growing things that had wafted through the ventilation systems. Nothing could block or imitate that perfume – it was the essence of life itself. His determined search for the source of that fragrance had brought him here.

Long ago, the first time he had set foot on Naboo as a child, Anakin had decided that this was what the Force would feel like, if it could be experienced through the physical senses – like a wash of pale, pure water, enlivened with the essence of the living realms that had added their color and flavor and fragrance to it, as it passed through the lush embrace of Naboo's lands. Fresh, lively water still evoked the Force of his childhood and youth – the active, clear, nurturing heart of his young life.

Anakin stepped back from the spray and walked around the fountain, studying its design. It was part fountain, part watercourse. The meandering flow of the water into the many smaller basins allowed a constant interplay of finer, spiraling movements. Pipe works brought water in this way; recycling pumps were here, scrubbers here. That part was easy, as long as you had gravity. The fascinating thing was that, in some way he hadn't yet worked out, the structure made the spaceships' recycled water "read" in the Force like a fresh mountain stream.

He walked around it again, memorizing the shapes and proportions. Yes, he could build something like this. It just had never occurred to him to try.

Anakin moved closer to the fountain again, and finally sat down on the broad curve of one of the lower basins. The fountain's spray was no more than a dewy mist, but rivulets were already running down his face, and his sleeve and leggings would be soaked very soon. He didn't care. For the first time in a long time, Anakin felt as if he could really breathe.

The garden space around him was being used by large numbers of people for exercise, contemplation, and play. There were a few desert gardens around the edges of the huge space, but mostly, Anakin was surrounded by the thousand shades of yellows, greens, pinks and blues that formed the rainbow flora of the Galaxy's living planets. Here in the arboretum, as on every level of Center City that he had explored, there were as many different kinds of people as one might find on Coruscant. Only in this place, the common ground that brought them together wasn't politics or commerce; it was the search for a place of safety.

"Look, mamai, that man is getting all wet!" a child called out, laughing.

"Let him be," his mother chided gently, with a quick smile at Anakin before she gently pulled her little one away. Anakin grinned back in appreciation. People who knew how to live together peacefully also knew how to allow one another the space in which to live.

With something approaching contentment, Anakin dawdled on the edge of the fountain, getting wetter, watching the life around him, and just breathing.

_Come away with me,_ Padmé's voice whispered in his heart. _Come away with me, so we can remember how to live._

After a while, Anakin could sense without turning around that someone else was sitting on the edge of a basin nearby. The presence was so strong that hairs on the back of Anakin's neck rose a little. He turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse the man out of his peripheral vision, and froze in astonishment.

Looking just a little indistinct around the edges, and sporting a faintly bluish tinge, Qui-Gon Jinn sat near Anakin on the edge of the fountain, staring at the water.

Slowly Anakin turned his whole body until he sat facing the apparition. Qui-Gon looked remarkably solid, for a vision - more solid that Anakin had seen him since his death. It was only when the figure turned so that Anakin could look into his face, that Anakin saw the star-depths of the universe in his eyes.

"Master Jinn," Anakin whispered, suddenly awash in an odd, disturbing feeling – an unsettling infusion of hope and love and fear.

The figure of Qui-Gon looked straight into Anakin, and through him, and beyond.

"Master Jinn, where have you been? You had… I thought you had… you disappeared. I thought you deserted me. "

"I have been here all along, Anakin. You left me behind."

"No! I didn't… I never meant to…"

"You left your path, Anakin. You're stumbling into a dark wood. I'm surprised that you can see past the end of your own nose."

"I… what?"

"Think, Anakin. Why are you drawn to this place? Why can you reach me now? What has changed?"

"_I_ reach _you_? Master Jinn, I…"

But Qui-Gon had disappeared, and standing in his place was a Corellian in a Security Service uniform, waving a data pad in Anakin's face and looking exasperated, as if he had been trying to get Anakin's attention for some time.

"Sir! Sir!"

"What is it?" Anakin snapped, incensed.

"You have an urgent message, Sir. Captain Pell asked me to deliver it personally…I've been searching the ship for you…" the man's voice faded out just as he began to grow a little paler. Without another word he hastily shoved the datapad into Anakin's hand and hurried away through the arboretum, leaving Anakin alone, bereft, dripping and furious, and wondering who, in all the universe, knew that he was here.

**x  
**

Anakin was out of the arboretum before the last word had vanished from the now inert datapad he still held in his fist. The cryptic message from the Captain of the _Providence_ had sent him bolting to the City Center docking bay, to look over the passengers on any and all incoming vessels.

_Thought you'd like to know that an old friend of yours is arriving in the neighborhood._

The good news was that, since the message had come from Pell, there was a fighting chance that Anakin's exact whereabouts were still unknown to… others.

Well, that had better be the case. He was counting on it.

_Last time I saw him, he was hot on your trail back home._

The bad news was that Kenobi was about to arrive in Nowhere, if he hadn't already. It couldn't be anyone else. Pell had witnessed Anakin's last conversation with his former Master back on Coruscant, just before they had both had turned up on Naboo and that other lifetime had ended for good. Based on what he had seen then, the little Captain must have ventured a shrewd guess that this information would be worth something to Anakin.

He had guessed right. It was.

_Now he's fraternizing with the mighty._

_The mighty_. Kenobi was here at the behest of whoever was in charge. From the little that Pell had told him about the origins and sustenance of the city that didn't exist, that must mean the Corellian government itself. What was going on? Were the Jedi involved with Nowhere's fate now, or was Kenobi here on his own, for another reason?

There was only one way to find out.  
_  
Tell me later how much you love me._

Good old Pell. The information about Kenobi wasn't free. But it had been Anakin who originally had established the rules for their relationship, hadn't it? So Pell either assumed they had a bargain, or he was angling for one.

Anakin didn't remember binding himself to a bargain. But he would check out Pell's tip. The rest… well, the rest remained to be seen.

x

Standing shoulder to shoulder on the bridge of the _Providence_, the Senator from the only politically neutral system in the war-torn Galaxy and the Jedi Knight intently watched the cruiser's slow progress into the hidden refugee city in space that was… Nowhere.

Actually, it was the Jedi Knight who was absorbed in the sights outside the Viewscreen. The Senator was studying the Jedi, trying to gauge his reaction to the unveiling of the true nature of the Corellia System's refugee problem.

Usually newcomers were dumbstruck with incredulity and awe. Some even wept out of compassion and fear for the vast numbers who had lost the structure and substance of their lives. Many became wildly enthusiastic, instant converts to his cause. Almost all offered help, whatever they could give.

The only reaction that Kenobi shared in common with those other hand-selected visitors with whom Bel Iblis had shared this secret was utter silence. He showed no emotion, gave no indication of what he might be thinking or what the sight might mean to him on a personal level. This frustrated Bel Iblis no end, because he needed Kenobi's personal engagement with his cause as much as he needed the Jedi Order's – now, more than ever. He was taking a huge risk bringing Kenobi to this place on nothing more than the assumption of the Jedi's discretion.

It was sad; things had come to the point that one hesitated to trust even the Jedi. Even when they claimed to be on your side.

But he had to rely on the Jedi. There was no one else.

Bel Iblis wished the other Jedi had come with Kenobi, as originally planned. That one – the young Twi'lek – wasn't as insufferably stone-faced as Kenobi had been lately. He would have liked to observe her reaction to Nowhere. He'd be willing to bet that she, at least, would be sympathetic.

"Where did your partner go, anyway?" he broke into the intense silence, as the _Providence_ glided gently between massive clusters of spaceships that formed the distinct neighborhoods of the makeshift city. "The one who was supposed to come with you? The Jedi who actually smiles now and then?"

"She has attached herself to the Refugee Outreach Alliance's Delegation," Kenobi said serenely, without looking away from the viewscreen. "Extra security. You will see her when they arrive here."

"Are you mad, Kenobi? The Delegation isn't coming here."

That made Kenobi tear his eyes away from the sight outside the viewscreen, all right. "What do you mean?"

"This place is hard enough to hide without a pack of nosy, indiscreet Senators snooping around here. If there is a single slip in security, we are all dead. All of us."

"Bel Iblis, you know as well as I do that it is a miracle that you have kept this place hidden even this long. You can't expect your luck to hold. I had understood that this fact-finding mission was your way of easing the threat by unveiling this city of refugees – that the intention was to make it visible, and to garner political support for your humanitarian efforts."

Bel Iblis shook his head wearily. "And you people are the Republic's elite tacticians? No wonder your side hasn't won the damn war yet." Kenobi didn't react openly, but his lips tightened just a little. Good. Bel Iblis had a lot more to say, and he liked to think that he was being heard. "The moment this gets out, the moment the magnitude of our effort on behalf of refugees gets out, Corellia will become a primary military target for both sides of this abomination of a war. We have other refugee colonies scattered throughout our system, especially on Esh-Col and some of the other habitable Outlier planets and moons. Those colonies, which our government openly and officially supports and supplies, are the public face of Corellia's refugee assistance policy. Those are the camps that the Alliance Delegation will visit. " He waved in the general direction of the viewscreen. "Not this."

"It will get out," Kenobi said simply. "It is inevitable."

"I know." Bel Iblis crumpled a little inside, but hoped it didn't show in his face. "That's one of the reasons we need your help." He glanced at Kenobi, who was still staring straight ahead. "The help of the Jedi. We need to get these people out of here. Now. We need to disperse them, as quickly as we can, to other locations, and we have to try to ensure their safety while we are doing it. " He clapped a heavy hand on Kenobi's impassive shoulder to make sure that he was being heard. "That is a moral obligation, not a political one."

Kenobi's face was a mask. "Where, in a war-torn Galaxy, do you imagine that you can send them?"

"There are a few safe places here and there. We're researching them."

"And if those places are overrun by the fighting, or change hands politically?"

"Then you'd better win this war quickly, hadn't you, Jedi?"

Kenobi didn't flinch. "And if that fails?"

"Outside," Bel Iblis growled. "Beyond."

"Beyond the Outer Rim? Into unexplored space?"

"If necessary."

Kenobi went back to staring out the viewscreen again. Center City's docking bay was now visible. The silence around the Jedi seemed even more intense, if that was possible. There was something uncanny about it. Bel Iblis watched him carefully.

"Well, Jedi?" Bel Iblis prompted at last. "Are you going to give us away?"

"Not I." The way he said it sent chills up Bel Iblis' back.

"Are you going to help us, then?"

It seemed as though Kenobi's eyes might bore holes through the viewscreen, but Bel Iblis had the impression that he was somewhere far away. "If I can." Suddenly he turned on Bel Iblis, startling him. "You said that dispersing this refugee city is only one of the problems that you need my help with. What are the others?"

"Let's put it this way, Jedi. If the rumors we are hearing are true, you'd better kiss your beloved Republic goodbye, and hope that there's a place for the Jedi Order in a Galaxy run by the Confederation of Independent States. "

Kenobi didn't say anything more after that. All through the ships' seemingly endless docking procedures, and throughout their long, silent walk to the lower levels of Center City, Bel Iblis had the feeling that Kenobi was only half there.

x

Somewhere between the vast dining halls and the engine rooms of Center City, a white-hot shock hit all ofAnakin's senses at the same time.

An outside observer in the wide butmercifully empty corridor might have seen the unusual spectacle of a tall man with a long, swinging stride stop so suddenly that he needed to fling a hand out to the nearest wall to hold himself upright. Such an observer might have worried briefly whether the man had suffered a seizure of some kind when he leaned forward, still clinging to the wall for support, and struggled visibly to breathe. The observer would have been quickly reassured, however, because the man's odd collapse took only a moment. In short order, he found his legs again, and continued down the corridor even more hurriedly than before.

_Kenobi._

There was no need to check the passenger manifests or to watch the incoming ships. Kenobi was here.

Anakin shook his head a little, as if to shake off the images left behind when his perceptions had, to his bitter shock and surprise, locked with his former Master's for a brief, powerful, confounding flash. The moment Kenobi's awareness had touched Anakin's, it had vanished, like a light winking out. But there was no mistake. Kenobi was close by.

_What in the seven hells is going on? _Anakin wondered, breaking into a trot. The fact of Kenobi's presence in Nowhere bothered him far less than the fact that Kenobi been able to perceive _him_.

It could only have happened if the dark cloaking that Anakin always used to shield himself was no longer there, leaving him to stand out in the Force like a beacon light in a busy spaceport. He hadn't needed to be mindful of his personal shielding since… well, since he had arrived on Coruscant to begin working for Palpatine. He had grown used to the comforting invisibility that had clung to him no matter what he did, or whether he even remembered to guard himself. It had lain over him like a second skin.

Now, it seemed, he was once again as exposed in the Force as he had been as a Jedi, so that fully conscious effort was required to dampen his radiance in the Force. Anakin had forgotten what it felt like to shine with one's own light; it was terrifying to feel so exposed and vulnerable. Quickly he locked down what shielding he could muster. As the implications of the encounter began to sink in, his rush to the docking bay slowed gradually while he worked out how, under these new circumstances, he was going follow Kenobi on his own terms, without being caught.

Anakin couldn't imagine how he ever had felt safe as a Jedi, without the ability to cloud the Force at will. It was going to take some doing to hide his presence.

Another flare up in the Force made Anakin stop dead again, this time in the middle of a well-used service corridor in the Engineering sector. A few passers-by looked at him curiously. In the shock of growing comprehension, he didn't care. Kenobi's presence had once again become as clear to Anakin as an image on a screen. He could have walked straight to him blindfolded.

That was only possible if Kenobi hadn't been shielding his presence. But Obi-Wan Kenobi was never careless with such things.

That meant that he had deliberately exposed his presence in the Force to Anakin.  
_  
He wants me to find him. Why?_

Anakin searched through the Force, and effortlessly latched on to Obi-Wan again. He was with someone, and they were hurrying somewhere a few levels below, toward the other end of Center City.

_I should leave_, Anakin thought, as he began to hurry toward the location where he had sensed Kenobi's presence. _I should go down to the docking bay, find the Defiance, and go._ His feet kept moving, even speeding up. He was like a blood-kl'ach tracking a scent – nothing could deter him from his path, not even cold reason and logic. The battle between his instincts and his better judgment was brief and fierce, but hopeless. By the time he had arrived three levels below Engineering and was steadily closing on his prey, impulse had thrown on the disguise of sagacity and shrewdness, and Anakin had convinced himself that finding out what Obi-Wan was up to, and why he had allowed Anakin to find him, was the most important thing he could be doing.

The trail of temptation led Anakin into a large lobby that led to what appeared to be a theater of some kind, whose doors were shut against the small cluster of people who milled around in the open lobby. Anakin easily spotted Obi-Wan among them, standing next to a tall man whom Anakin recognized – Senator Bel Iblis of the Corellia System. _The mighty_, in Pell's words. Again, Pell had been straight with him.

The theater's double doors swung invitingly open. A tall, slender young woman stepped out of the dimly lit interior of the theater and said, in a cultured voice that could be heard around the wide space, "Please come in. We should begin."

Anakin was just wondering whether there were any ventilation ducts in which he might hide so that he could overhear the proceedings, when Obi-Wan spotted him. Anakin froze. Obi-Wan made single gesture with his head that Anakin knew all too well – a kind of sideways nod that ordered, "follow."

Anakin did. He couldn't imagine doing otherwise. Whatever happened, he needed to know why Obi-Wan wanted him there. He would deal with the consequences when the time came.

He slipped into the theater behind the others and sank into a seat in the back, by the exit doors. On the stage, a vast holo-image filled the shadowy space, providing a moving image of something that Anakin couldn't identify. At its center were the bare bones of a giant spherical structure that appeared to be under construction. It was surrounded by countless fueling stations, space docks and vast barge and warehouse ships. Swarms of freighters and crew ships trawled back and forth between the vast skeleton of a sphere and the service ships and platforms that surrounded it. Anakin tried to calculate its size. When he realized that, relative to the scale of the surrounding ships and space stations, the structure itself was comparable in size to a small moon, his mind rebelled.

_That can't be right._

The tall woman who had called the group inside stepped onto the stage in front of the gigantic holo- image.

"I am Mon Mothma, Senator to the Free Star System of Chandrila," she introduced herself. "You have been invited here to learn about a threat to the Galaxy that will, if it is allowed to continue, render the political differences that divide us now irrelevant." She paused to look around the breathlessly silent room, and continued gravely, "Refugees from a number of Outer Rim systems have brought us this information. It has been corroborated many times."

"It appears," Mon Mothma announced into the absolute silence, "that someone is constructing a weapon that can destroy an entire planet."


	23. Chapter 22 Keep Your Enemies Close

**Chapter 22. Keep Your Enemies Close**

It would be hard to imagine a more silent group than the grim-faced souls who slowly trickled back out of the darkened theater in which Anakin had found himself as a spectator after following Obi-Wan. The air in the theater felt dead and thin, barely able to carry the soft scuffle of dragging feet as one by one, Senator Mothma's audience made their way past Anakin toward the exit doors. Quite a few curious glances were cast toward Anakin, making him think that the light from the enormous holo-image that still flickered on the stage must be reflecting on his face. Acutely uncomfortable, Anakin hovered warily inside of his skin; his senses alight with caution, he memorized each face as it passed.

Just in case.

Senator Mothma had made her presentation in a bare bones outline, succinctly and without elaboration. The heavy silence had descended like a fog as she spoke, deadening all other sound. At the end of her presentation she had been on the verge of opening the discussion, when a small flutter of movement in the front row had captured her attention. In the ensuing suspenseful silence, Obi-Wan had stood up and whispered something in her ear. The Senator had regarded him thoughtfully, and then had announced that the presentation had ended, and that further discussion would take place later.

_He did that because I'm here,_ Anakin speculated, with bitter objectivity. _He wants me to see, but that is all._

The last three people to leave the theater were Bel Iblis, Obi-Wan, and Senator Mothma. Bel Iblis went first, trawling up the aisle with heavy steps and a frown that seemed to be a permanent part of his face. It was amazing to see what happened to that face when he spotted Anakin slouched casually in the back row with one arm flung over the backs of the adjacent seats.

"You!" Bel Iblis stopped dead next to Anakin. His grotesque expression could have been used as a sculptor's model for one of the legendary dark furies of Epsilon V. "What are you doing here?"

Anakin raised his face to his accuser's but didn't answer. He didn't need to. Obi-Wan already had come up behind Bel Iblis, and hadplaced a steadying hand on the livid Senator's shoulder. "Easy, Senator. He is here because I invited him."

Bel Iblis shrugged the Jedi's hand off violently. "I knew I shouldn't trust you, Kenobi! I should have known that the word of a Jedi isn't worth the dirt on the soles of my shoes! What do you mean, you invited Palpatine's little pet here?"

Unmoving, barely breathing, Anakin waited.

Obi-Wan's hand returned to Bel Iblis' shoulder with enough intention to bend the Force around it. The big man winced. Obi-Wan's mouth moved closer to his ear.

"He already was here. Do you understand me? _He found his own way to this place."_

Bel Iblis opened his mouth to say something else but stopped when his shoulder suffered another jarring shake.

"Garm!" Mon Mothma's clear voice rang through the harshness. "Come with me." She swept up the aisle beside the Corellian Senator and took his arm firmly, pulling him along with her. Obi-Wan only let go of Bel Iblis' shoulder when he began to move along with her.

Mon Mothma shot a searching sideways glance at Anakin, and then pulled her colleague out of the theater without saying anything more. The exit doors closed again. Intense, muffled voices could be heard on the other side. Inside the theater, the orange light of the holo-image flickered on in the deep silence.

Anakin continued to wait.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and briefly looked down at the floor before he lifted his face to Anakin's. Their eyes finally met, and Anakin no longer had to wish that Obi-Wan would see him. It seemed that his former Master could see nothing else.

Nor could Anakin look away. His posture hadn't changed, but only fractions of seconds and slivers of caution marked the space between absolute stillness and a blur of deadly motion.

Obi-Wan seemed to know this. Without making any sudden movements, he settled himself against the back of one of the seats in the row in front of Anakin in a deliberately relaxed posture that said, 'I am here to talk.' Anakin still didn't move, but the air between the two men lost a tiny bit of its charge.

At last, Obi-Wan waded into theelectric silence.

"What I told Bel Iblis true, isn't it? That you found your own way to this place?"

"Yes."

"Under orders?"

"In a way. "

The silence stretched out like a thread.

"Did you know about this?" Obi-Wan asked at last, nodding toward the glowing holo-image that still rotated slowly on the stage behind him.

"No."

Obi-Wan nodded, and contemplated Anakin for a while longer. "I am told that the people who have gathered in this place are prepared to leave the Galaxy behind entirely." When Obi-Wan waved one hand in an expressive circle, Anakin followed the movement with all of his senses on alert. "People don't flee their homes and lives like this if they believe that peace and order will return."

Anakin stared him down in silence. It was bravado, nothing more. He was trembling inside.

"There is much at stake here for everyone in the Galaxy, no matter what their affiliation," Obi-Wansaid carefully. "More, perhaps, than any of us had understood."

Anakin still didn't feel ready to respond.

"I have to ask you, Anakin. What are you going to do now?"

This time Anakin didn't reply because no answer came to him; no truth, not even a lie. He held Obi-Wan's gaze as long as he could, but then he had to look away.

To lie, one first had to know the truth.

Anakin stared at the gloved hand that lay across the seat backs, trying desperately not to drown in a sea of nameless, shapeless feelings. He let his eyes drifted around the dim theater. When the quiet darkness, too, didn't provide any reprieve, he finally let them drift back to Obi-Wan's face.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Obi-Wan shifted a little and let out a breath that sounded like a groan. "What am I going to do? Something I should have done long ago, I suspect." A ghost of a half-smile flitted across his face. Anakin couldn't interpret it, and for that reason, he didn't like it.

"Will you walk with me a little?" Obi-Wan stood up in another slow, careful, deliberate movement. "We should talk."

Anakin studied his own fingers as though he had never seen them before. "What do we have to talk about?"

Obi-Wan again let the silence draw out, but there was a quality to that silence that made Anakin forget his posturing and look up to see an odd kind of empyreal shimmer around the Jedi. Something in the Force had drawn close around him – something light and bright, that seemed vaguely familiar. He tensed. Familiarity was a treacherous path when it came to Obi-Wan. He blamed that too-easy sense of the known for luring him into this odd and wholly unexpected encounter against his better judgment. He had better be careful. Very careful. Experience had taught him that Obi-Wan was not to be trusted.

"We need to talk about the way forward, Anakin. Not the past. The way forward."

_Not the past. _Maybe it was relief at the prospect of not being asked to go over old ground, or maybe it was merely an involuntary response to hearing his name from the lips of his old Master. Maybe he too needed answers. But Anakin eventually signified his agreement by also standing up.

That insufferable half-smile flitted across Obi-Wan's face again. "It seems that V'ar was right after all."

"About what?"

Obi-Wan turned and waved one hand toward the stage. The holo-image vanished, plunging the theater into darkness. A tiny data disc dropped out of the darkness into his hand. "She insists that you can be reasoned with."

… _And you don't..._ With some effort, Anakin bit back his automatic retort and waited for Obi-Wan to push open the theater door, taking note of Obi-Wan's almost imperceptible movements as hesecured the data disc.

The lobby outside of the dark theater was empty. The two Senators were long gone. In the light, Obi-Wan's eyes were shadowed with weariness.

"Is V'ar here with you, then? " Anakin asked neutrally, wondering why the Jedi had been invited to Nowhere in the first place. In any case, V'ar was bound to be a better source of information than Obi-Wan.

When it took longer for Obi-Wan to answer the simple question than it ought, tension began to prickle on the back of Anakin's neck.

"She has attached herself to the Refugee Outreach Alliance Delegation."

"Why?" Anakin snapped, suddenly inflamed. "A Jedi…"

"Yes, I know," Obi-Wan cut him off sharply. "It is no longer prudent to appear in the company of a Jedi in this new Galaxy of ours. Nor is it wise to befriend one." Despite his unadorned speech, voiceless sorrow seemed to leak from him, saturating the space between them. "Still, we have some small skills to offer in support of a good cause." Obi-Wan looked into Anakin's eyes. "V'ar has disguised herself, as I have. "

Scowling, Anakin played for a moment to think. "You look younger without the beard."

"So I have been told."

Anakin remembered V'ar's voice saying, "…_ she won't be without protection on this journey_…"with fresh suspicion. Did these Jedi know something about Padmé's journey that he didn't? Quite unconsciously, he began to pace back and forth. The hidden city of Nowhere was probably the only place in the Galaxy that did not receive Holonet transmissions. No communications signals of any kind entered the city's vessels, and none left it without being filtered through the central security grid. He hadn't so much as glimpsed her for many hours, and his patience was wearing thin.

"Why do the Jedi care about the safety of the Refugee Outreach Alliance delegation?"_Has something happened?_

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said gently, following Anakin with his eyes. "You know as well as I do that their work represents a direct threat to the…ah… existing order."

_He is avoiding the question._ Anakin kept pacing.

"V'ar is concerned about the personal safety of the delegation members, particularly its most visible and well-known member… your wife." Obi-Wan caught and heldAnakin's suddenhostile glance.

_Padmé… I ought to be protecting her,_ Anakin thought wildly. _Only I. What am I doing here?_ He had only just arrived, and now he burned to be away again. His paces lengthened. "Why?" he demanded again, with more heat.

"It's a precaution," Obi-Wan said in his all-too-familiar best soothing voice. "Nothing more."

"Don't patronize me!"

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said contritely. "I don't mean to."

Slightly mollified, Anakin glowered at him and kept pacing.

"Her activities must be placing you in a terribly difficult position," Ob-Wan suggested quietly.

"My position is my own business," Anakin snapped.

"Is it?"

Anakin stopped dead in front of Obi-Wan, the heat rising into his face.

"I asked you..."

"Walk with me." Obi-Wan abruptly turned away and set off toward the heart of the ship that was called Center City, without hesitating to see whether Anakin would follow.

He did, quickly matching Obi-Wan stride for stride.

"What do you want from me?" Anakin hissed impatiently after a while, when they had traversed three separate corridors without further conversation. "Why did you allow me to find you? Why did you invite me into that private meeting?"

"I want your help, Anakin."

Anakin laughed; a bitter, harsh sound. "I find that hard to believe."

Obi-Wan's lips tightened, but he didn't say anything more until, following strains of music and the sound of many distant voices, they reached a long catwalk that looked out over a busy public space near the center of the ship. Three levels below, several corridors met in a wide open lobby that was crammed full of people milling around in various animated groups. Musicians and administrators, soldiers and noisy young people mingled with families and children. The musicians were a mixed bunch, who seemed to be trying to find music in common rather than playing to an audience; nevertheless, an audience had gathered to applaud their efforts.

It seemed that all the species that shared the same requirements for life support were represented in this one place. Anakin knew that in the city beyond, countless others that required specialized environments to sustain life huddled in their ships, clinging to the group for a sense of safety.

Obi-Wan leaned his elbows on the railing, watching the scene below. Anakin was more interested in watching Obi-Wan.

"These people," Obi-Wan said after a while, "all of these people… are doomed, unless a way is found for them to leave this place immediately. If their security hasn't already been compromised, it is just a matter of time."

"You're talking about me," Anakin observed coolly. "You don't want me to report to the Supreme Chancellor on their existence."

Obi-Wan straightened up and to look into Anakin's eyes. "That is one danger they face, yes. But it is not the only one. Discovery could come at any time, in many ways."

"You really don't believe in the Republic any longer, do you? You don't trust that the Senate – or the Supreme Chancellor – to do the right thing with this knowledge."

Obi-Wan's eyes never wavered. "Do you?"

Anakin struggled to still his pounding heart. "I have to." It came out as a whisper.

Obi-Wan nodded, never letting go of that gaze.

"I want you to do more than keep a secret, Anakin. I want you to help me find a way to get these people out of here, safely and secretly. It's a military and logistical nightmare. I'll do it alone if I have to. But I would rather have your assistance."

While shock robbed Anakin of the ability to answer, Obi-Wan picked up his comm. unit, which must have signaled soundlessly, and listened to a private channel.

"Yes," he said briefly, and then, "I'll be there as soon as I can." When he had finished, he tucked the unit away again and returned his attention to Anakin. "Well?"

"I will never help the Jedi."

"Then don't." Obi-Wan nodded his head toward the crowds far below. "Help them."

"But you…"

"Who says I'm doing this on behalf of the Jedi?" Obi-Wan asked simply. Anakin shut his mouth and stared.

"You are that devoted to this cause?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

Anakin's errant heart continued to thud hard as the implications sank in.

"So if I decide against helping you and go my own way…"

Obi-Wan shook his head from side to side in the universal indication of "no." "Don't try it" was perhaps a more accurate interpretation of that gesture.

Pell had made it clear that enemies of Nowhere never left this place. It seemed that Obi-Wan was of the same mind.

But Anakin had to leave; if not to return to Coruscant, then certainly to see Padmé. He had been waiting for the instant when he would know that it was time to find her; his pounding blood told him that the moment had come. This might be their chance to flee. A real chance. Coruscant and all it represented seemed far away, as did his troubled past with the Jedi. He'd had a small reminder of what peace felt like down at the fountain in the arboretum. Since meeting Qui-Gon by the waters of that fountain, something new had begun to spread through Anakin's body and mind – a feeling he had nearly forgotten existed.

Hope.

For Anakin, hope was inextricably linked with Padmé, as the Force was linked with each cell of his body. The need for her overwhelmed him with a sudden, wild ache.

Trying not to tremble, thinking only of his longing to reach her, Anakin made a promise he didn't know whether he would fulfill.

"I have to go see someone. Then I will return and help you."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "I can't allow you to leave, Anakin. Surely you know that."

_Keep your enemies close._ Obi-Wan wasn't a fool, and he never had been incautious. Anakin was clearly the enemy, and Obi-Wan was handling him by the book. If he hadn't been in such a hurry, Anakin might have been amused. "And you're going to stop me?"

"If necessary." The words were soft. Gentle. Unequivocal.

Anakin stepped so close that Obi-Wan had to look up into his face. "I'm going to see Padmé," he said, with equal silkiness. "It's not negotiable. You have never been able to keep me from her. I wouldn't try now."

The intervening moment crackled with pent-up intensity until Obi-Wan nodded, and asked curtly, "How long?"

"Not long." Anakin was startled; he hadn't expected Obi-Wan to acquiesce and certainly not that quickly. That was unexpected…

"Tell V'ar 'hello" for me." Obi-Wan turned to go.

Ah. Of course. V'ar was in position next to Padmé, ready to move against Anakin, if necessary. No wonder Obi-Wan had yielded. Well, V'ar didn't concern him. Only Padmé did.

Without saying farewell, Anakin bolted toward the security bay where he thought Pell had stowed the _Defiance._

_x_

Two standard hours into yet another uneventful pass through the isolated outer reaches somewhere between the Corellia and the Duro System, the First Officer of the Star Destroyer _Victorious_ made a snap decision. Defying regulations, he dashed off the Bridge to deliver a message to his Captain in person.

"He is asking to speak with you personally and privately, Sir," he murmured into the Captain's ear just before they turned left at the junction of corridors B12 and F116. "I… I took the liberty of arranging for you to return the transmission in your quarters."

Captain Tarkin paused long enough in his hasty flight back to the Bridge to look his trustworthy Second up and down coldly. "Indeed?"

It was a good idea, of course. The man always had good ideas. Tarkin was under no illusions about his first officer's unswerving loyalty; it was largely due to his own recent good fortune in having been of some personal use to the Supreme Chancellor. Tarkin approved of ambition. Handled well, it was a very useful trait in one's subordinates.

"Thank you, Commander. You may return to your duties." Quickly, Tarkin turned right instead, barely waiting to acknowledge his Second's crisp salute. It was much further to his quarters than to the Bridge, but the delay provided an opportunity to pull himself together. When his own holographic image finally appeared in front of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, he wanted to appear as nothing less than perfect.

Polished and poised, Captain Tarkin suppressed his excitement as the image of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine sprang to life on his desk. He had a fairly good idea about the subject of his summons, and couldn't wait to bring forward his own bit of news… but only if the right opportunity arose.

"Ah, Captain Tarkin. You understand that this communication is for you alone?"

"Of course, Supreme Chancellor. The usual arrangements are in place."

"Forgive me, Captain. I should know by now how thoroughly I can rely on your efficiency and discretion."

Tarkin couldn't help hoping that in time, Palpatine would say the same about his judgment and acuity, but in all, the complement pleased him. "Thank you, Sir. How may I be of assistance?"

"How much progress have you made in your investigations?"

"The patterns remain consistent, Your Excellency. Every ship our long range sensors have tracked into a certain portion of the Corellia Sector appears to have vanished in roughly the same area. Since our surveillance the traffic in and out of that area began, not one ship has re-emerged from that portion of Corellian space."

"That would suggest deliberate cloaking, wouldn't you say, Captain?"

"Of that there is no doubt."

"Have you enough data to map the cloaked zone?"

"Not with any precision, Your Excellency. As long as we remain outside the Corellia system's borders, the distance is too great. But our estimates are enough to allow a search to begin, if you require it."

Palpatine's image frowned. "Not quite yet, Captain. There are other considerations at the moment."

"Of course. As you wish."

Palpatine placed his fingers together in a kind of steeple. "You tracked Commander Skywalker's ship as well, of course."

Tarkin's collar suddenly felt tight. "We tracked his progress as long as we could. However, he vanished from our surveillance net far sooner than any of the other vessels under observation."

"Yes, he would have done." Palpatine smiled. For some reason, Tarkin did not find the expression reassuring. "And to your knowledge, Skywalker's ship has not re-appeared?"

"No, Your Excellency." Tarkin's discomfort grew. Perhaps this was the time to bring forward that little snatch of intelligence he had managed to hoard. He disliked the feeling that he had failed on some level; that he was somehow lagging behind in the game.

"On a slightly different matter, Supreme Chancellor, our operatives on Talus have reported that Senator Bel Iblis left the other members of the Alliance Delegation."

"Yes," Palpatine interrupted with the tiniest edge of impatience. "That is a matter of public knowledge."

Tarkin forged ahead, since there was no turning back. "He traveled on board a patrol ship of Corellia's Special Security Division. This ship was tracked to a disused transfer station well into the outlier system, where he rendezvoused with a third party."

"Can you identify the party?"

"No, Sir, our tracking was done at long distance. However, not long after that…"

"Let me guess." The Supreme Chancellor smiled broadly. "Some time thereafter, his ship disappeared into the cloaked zone."

"Well, no, Sir," Tarkin admitted, unable to be anything less than punctilious. "Not quite. The ship vanished from our sensors not far from his rendezvous point. However, our calculations show its last known course as a direct trajectory to the cloaked area."

"Well done, Captain," Palpatine said genially. "I appreciate a man with the ability to distinguish between information that is merely important and that which is critical."

Tarkin glowed inwardly with pride, and not a little relief. "I am at your service, Your Excellency."

"I shall require your discerning services once again, Captain. This time I need you to do something that will go against both your training and your instincts as a military man."

"Sir?" Tarkin tensed, unable to imagine what would come next.

"I need your task force to hold its position and to continue its surveillance, but at the same time to turn a blind eye to a situation that might arise in your vicinity."

"Sir, I don't understand…"

"Captain," Palpatine said almost caressingly, "You are the only one of your rank to whom I can entrust this information at this time. Our Jedi commanders in the Outer Rim sieges have failed to hold back the Separatist onslaught. Military intelligence informs us that CIS forces have been secretly massing near Hutt space. We can only conclude that an attack close to the heart of the Galaxy is imminent."

Tarkin still didn't understand, but he chose silence over further ill-considered questions while Palpatine continued, "Indications are that the Corellia system is to be the target of this attack."

The Corellia System wasn't politically and militarily in league with the Republic, and therefore weak in its isolation; yet it nestled strategically near the Galaxy's core worlds. Assuming that Separatist forces really had infiltrated far enough into the Galaxy that they could effectively launch such a campaign, their strategy was sound. It was, in fact, one that Tarkin had predicted for some time.

The Chancellor's response to it, on the other hand, made no sense at all. Tarkin struggled to achieve clarity without sounding stupid.

"You wish to allow this incursion, Your Excellency?"

"Not for long, Captain. Certainly not for long. We will come to the rescue of our misguided Corellian neighbors in the end." He smiled slightly. "Our military forces, including, of course, the task force that you command, will stand by just long enough for our enemies to gain confidence, and for the Corellians to lose it."

Now Tarkin understood. The beauty of the thing brought tears to his eyes. "If the strike force is indeed massing in that portion of the Mid-Rim, the invasion will most likely arrive in Corellian space through the Colonies, directly through the portion of the Sector that we are currently keeping under surveillance."

"Indeed. It seems that our enemies might take care of our problems for us, don't you agree, Captain?"

"Certainly, Sir!"

"Good. Good. Carry on with your mission, Captain. You will be alerted when the situation is about to change."

Palpatine's image vanished before Tarkin could say another word.

x

Seemingly appearing out of nowhere, a small, fast _…something…_ shot far into the deep space of the outer reaches of the Corellia System, deep space, much further away from any known base than a ship that size could safely venture. On the _Victorious'_ long-range scanners its movement was difficult to distiinguish from from a normal signal fluctuation, and normally would have been too minor to catch anyone's eye. In fact, it was only because the Captain was closely monitoring his long range scans that an alert Nav. Officer reported the faint variation in the scanning signals.

"Can you positively identify that as a vessel, Ensign?"

"We are pushing the outside limits of our scanning capabilities, Captain." The young Nav. officer swallowed. "But I can try to plot its course as it goes, Sir. That might help us to identify what is causing the signal variation. "

"Do so."

The signal fluctuated, disappearing and reappearing like the twinkling of a faraway star. When the individual sightings were plotted, though, the result looked very much like the course of a ship traveling at breakneck sublight speed.

"Estimate its final destination," the Captain ordered. The sweating Ensign complied, trying to ignore the fact that his Captain was literally breathing down his neck.

"Esh-Col, Sir," he reported after some swift calculations. "Provided it remains on this trajectory."

The Captain took a step or two back, and the young Nav. officer breathed more easily.

"What is on Esh-Col?" The Captain asked.

"Nothing much, Sir. It's habitable, but there isn't a permanent population."

"Sir?" The eager Sub-Lieutenant who sat at the young Ensign's left piped up. "There is a large refugee colony on Esh-Col now. It has been highlighted on the holonet news recently. The delegation of Senators we escorted to the Corellian border is due to arrive there within hours."

"Refugees. Indeed." Captain Tarkin stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well done, Sub-Lieutenant." To the Ensign he said only, "Continue to track the signal, and report any course changes," before he climbed back up the short ladder from the Nav. pit to the Bridge walkway.  
_  
Hey, I'm the one who reported the signal in the first place! _the Ensign thought with a quick, resentful glare at his gleeful colleague. Still, he knew when to hold his tongue. Somewhat dampened in spirits, he went straight back to his work.

x

"V'ar. I have news." The holo-transmission was so heavily encoded that it wasn't stable. Obi-Wan's image faded in and out, and it was difficult to hear him.

"Obi-Wan! Where are you? I thought you were in a blackout zone and couldn't communicate with me under any circumstances." V'ar pushed down her surprise and worry that something had happened to him.

"I have taken measures. Are you alone?"

"Of course." V'ar knew perfectly well that she was in a safe place to receive the transmission, but reached out around her with her senses once more, just to be on the safe side. "Go ahead."

"Anakin is on his way to you."

"Anakin?" V'ar was truly puzzled. "He was there? Before you, even? How…?"

Obi-Wan didn't seem to want to go into detail. "He was here. Now he is on his way to see… his wife." A current of unspoken meaning flowed between them. "At least, that is where he said he was going."

"You spoke to him!" Hopeful expectation hit her harder than worry had. Quickly she subdued that emotion as well.

"We spoke." Even in the wavering holographic image, Obi-Wan's shoulders sloped with tension. He held himself tightly, arms crossed over the front of his dark cloak. "He has agreed to help me here."

That was stunning, stunning, news. Anakin was going to help? But why did Obi-Wan look so shattered?

"This place, V'ar … the way Bel Iblis described it to us doesn't begin to do it justice. It hasn't been touched by the darkness yet. Being here is like stepping into a different Galaxy." The holo-image of Obi-Wan thinned and hissed for a moment, distorting the sound along with the image. V'ar thought she heard the word "peace." When it stabilized again, Obi-Wan was standing with his head bowed and this shoulders hunched, looking more vulnerable than V'ar had ever seen him.

"I can't believe I let him leave." She strained to make out his words. "He could have been lying. He could be going anywhere. But I felt compelled to let him go. I felt the Force pushing me. Like you, I felt it was the right thing to do."

V'ar felt a jolt of power throb through her veins; a tingling surge of awareness, of readiness. The One Point of action was coming. She was sure of it. Briefly she closed her eyes and dove deep inside for confirmation.

"Believe me, Obi-Wan, he will come here." The image of the bonfire that was Anakin's heart – the one she had experienced on the night of the Reception – was as clear in her memory now as it had been in her heart then. "He would not go anywhere else."

"Be cautious, V'ar. Be ready.It is up to you now. If he doesn't return here…"

He didn't have to complete the sentence. _If he doesn't return here, you must stop him from betraying this place._

She couldn't find it in her heart to reply. No words came to her. She struggled to find some, but couldn't.

"V'ar?"

_Please… _she begged into the Force. _Please, what must I do?_ Finally the words came to her in a rush: the only reply she could give Obi-Wan that rang true.

"The Force will be with me."

It must have been enough. He raised one hand in silent acknowledgement, and his image vanished into nothingness.


	24. Chapter 23 Awakening

**Chapter 23. Awakening**

To receive Obi-Wan's transmission V'ar had to retreat to her private cabin. Not that it was a cabin, really; it was little more than a tiny, stuffy cubicle near the engine rooms. The Senator's disapproving Chief of Security had grudgingly assigned it to her when it had been agreed that V'ar could remain aboard the Yacht.

"Just stay out of the way," Captain Typho had growled in warning when he'd left her at the door.

Even the Holonet News reporters got luxury accommodations by comparison.

It didn't bother V'ar. She used the cabin only for sleeping and for meditation. She could tune out the engine noise just fine.

It was only after Obi-Wan's holo-image vanished from her personal holo-transmitter that she noticed how stark and empty the cramped compartment really was.

Empty. Static.

_Always in motion, the Force is._ So should a Jedi be; even in stillness, there must be purpose.

V'ar closed her eyes and conjured up the image of Obi-Wan as he had appeared during their brief conversation. She re-examined the lines of his posture and the tone of his voice, allowing her mind to fill in the blanks that had been left by the indistinct transmission. She replayed every word he had said, to make sure she had it right. Then she erased the mental image entirely, leaving only stillness and emptiness in its place, and waited.

The Force did not fail her.

Into the waiting space where memory had stood, something else entered. New images. Certainties. A profound sense of connectedness. She sensed Anakin, or rather, the intention that was Anakin, hurtling toward her through space like a beam of light. She saw an image that she could not yet interpret: a vast collection of spaceships among the stars, a universe unto itself, bathed in all the colors of the spectrum. She saw Padmé Amidala: ethereal, clothed in light; nets like moonbeams streaming from her hands, gathering that universe into her gleaming web. She saw…

A noticeable shift in the rhythm of the engines brought her out of her trance state. V'ar checked her chrono. It wasn't long before landfall on Esh-Col.

Quickly she security-locked her transmitter and left her anonymous cubicle. While her mind was occupied with multiple kinetic trains of thought, her feet carried her up a winding spiral stair to the luxury ship's main level. Slipping through the public Salons, she headed straight for the Senator's personal suite.

x

"This is all your fault, Sabé." Padmé stared at the featureless ceiling of her sleeping cabin, exhausted from having tried and failed yet again to take a nap. Lying helplessly on her divan while images and worries and lurking regrets swirled around behind her eyelids like leaves in a gale was not her idea of a restful time.

"What's my fault?" Sabé zipped around the cabin, tidying away clothes and sorting through the accumulations of data discs that tended to follow Padmé wherever she went, even to bed.

"Lying down only makes me feel worse." With every fruitless attempt at sleeping, Padmé's mind seemed to seize the opportunity to scatter to the winds. She almost – _almost_ – had reconciled herself to being betrayed by her perpetually tired body, but she couldn't afford for her wits to lose their edge as well.

"If you say so." Sabé surveyed the immaculate cabin critically, and then sat down next to Padmé on the divan.

Padmé tensed when Sabé's strong fingers encircled her wrist, unerringly seeking out her pulse. Irritably, she snatched her hand back. "I'm pregnant, not sick! It's not a disability! Now move, so I can get up."

Sabé glared and picked up the rebellious wrist again. "This," she said, shaking it for emphasis, "is as thin as a stick."

Padmé snatched her hand back and cradled it against her chest. "Go away." She was better off working straight through. There was so much at stake, and they were only hours from the Corellia System's largest refugee colony on Esh-Col. The holonet crew was demanding another interview prior to landfall. There was simply no time to rest.

No, that wasn't it. No matter where she went or what she did, part of her was always wide awake and waiting; waiting for Anakin to materialize out of thin air and to say, "it is time… I have found a way…"

To her surprise, Sabé did go away, but she returned almost immediately with a small mirror, which she shoved in front of Padmé's face. "Look."

"Look at what?" Padmé stared at her image.

"Look how pale you are. Look at the circles under your eyes."

"I'm tired, that's all." Tired, yes. She was constantly, bone-crushingly exhausted, often to the point of tears, which she stifled at the source.

"That's why you need to lie down and try to sleep."

"I can't, so there is no point." Sabé's endless demands that she rest were becoming insufferable. Working, even when tired, was far better than this fitful, unhelpful, mind-splintering dozing. "Just please go get me something for a headache. That will do for now."

"But…"

"Just do it!"

Sabé glowered, but stood up to go. Stay right there while I'm gone."

Gleeful in her small victory over Sabé's reign of oppression, Padmé smiled at her sweetly, intending to do no such thing. Judging from the expression on Sabé's face as she turned away, she wasn't taken in.

Watching Sabé's retreating back, Padmé's smile trailed away. Wayward tears prickled behind her eyes again as she wondered, for the thousandth time, how soon the time would come when she would have to leave Sabé, and all the others whom she loved, behind.

x

V'ar had almost reached the door of the Senator's suite when the bane of her current existence suddenly appeared in the corridor before her and stepped in front of her to block her path.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Even though she was taller than Sabé, V'ar invariably felt the need to draw herself up to her full height when they were face to face. No matter where she went, what she did, or who she spoke to on Padmé's ship, Sabé managed to be there, watching her and challenging her at every turn. Because of the Handmaiden's tireless interference, she hadn't managed to come closer to the Senator than exchanging a few sociable words.

It was time for that to change.

"I have some news for the Senator."

"You?" Sabé's dark eyes were wary and suspicious. The thought behind them was as clear as if she had spoken it. _Where did you get news that we haven't already got?_

"Yes." V'ar stood quietly, waiting for the scene to play out the way these encounters with Sabé invariably played out.

"Senator Amidala is resting. You can tell me the news, and I'll pass it on to her."

V'ar stretched out with her senses, seeking the brightest and strongest Force signature on the yacht. Padmé was in her quarters; that much was true. But she wasn't asleep. V'ar knew from observation that if Sabé chose, she could and would interrupt Padmé at any time.

"I'm sorry." V'ar stood her ground. "This information is mine to pass on. If you will kindly alert me when she has finished her rest, I will speak with her then." She bowed formally and strode away, confident that Sabé would surrender to curiosity. It was just a matter of time.

Sabé stood her ground admirably before she finally yielded. V'ar had traversed the length the corridor and was well into the Salon before the Handmaiden finally called out, "I'll ask whether she will see you."

V'ar paused briefly to wipe the last trace of a poorly-suppressed grin off her face before strolling back toward her simmering adversary. "Thank you. I will wait here in the corridor."

With a last dark look over her shoulder, Sabé activated the muted door chime and let herself into Padmé's private suite, making sure the door closed quickly behind her.

V'ar waited patiently, reviewing once again the images the Force had shown her. They were still there, vestigial shimmers in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and focused on them one by one, strengthening and brightening them until she was sure of what she had seen.

Her eyes flew open the instant the locking mechanism on the door to Padmé's suite clicked softly. "Come in," Sabé said sourly. "The Senator has agreed to see you."

_Of course she has._ V'ar had never been in doubt, for she had glimpsed herself in those fleeting images, too, caught up in Amidala's shining web. Confident that she was exactly where she ought to be, V'ar took her first small step into the private world of the woman she believed held the keys to Anakin's destiny.

Padmé forced herself to sit up on her divan, and closed her eyes for the moment or two it took the resulting dizziness to subside.

There. That was better.

She looked up and was startled to see that the mysterious V'ar Tanil already had entered her bedchamber on quiet Jedi feet, with Sabé right behind her._ No one can sneak around better than a Jedi,_ Padmé thought randomly. Anakin was forever surprising her… _Oh, Gods, not again… don't think about him, you'll only start to…_

Padmé sniffed discreetly, and blinked her eyes once or twice. "Please sit down, Jedi Taanil."

"Thank you, My Lady. Call me V'ar. Everyone does."

With all of the legendary grace of her people, the young Twi'lek settled onto a nearby stool as lightly as a drifting petal. She looked like a dancer, not a Jedi. Sabé leaned against the far wall with her arms tightly crossed, telegraphing her intention to stay. Padmé ignored her. She didn't have the strength to argue.

"We haven't really had a chance to talk," Padmé began graciously. "I'm afraid I don't really understand why you have insisted on joining in with our delegation on this tour…"

"…And yet you invited me to travel with you, My Lady, over the ardent protests of Senator Organa and of your own staff."

A little taken aback by the Twi'lek Jedi's directness, Padmé paused to regroup. Her head still hurt; a thunderhead of tension was gathering between her eyes, and Sabé had brought her the Jedi in place of a remedy for the pain. "I wanted to keep the peace," she said at last, with equal honesty. "And I wanted to get underway. The discussion about what to do with you was delaying us all."

"That isn't the only reason."

"I beg your pardon?"

The Jedi's voice was silvery smooth, like music. "As I explained to Senator Organa, I promised Anakin that I would look after you in his absence. That is why I am here."

"Anakin?" The sound of his name – spoken by a Jedi, no less – ripped through her like a laser burst. "Anakin never mentioned you to me."

"That's because it wasn't his idea," the Jedi – V'ar – said easily.

"I don't understand." Padmé's head throbbed.

She watched helplessly as the stranger before her leaned toward her and said, in all seriousness, "you accepted my presence because you sensed the need for it in the Force."

"What?"

Sabé moved closer, a growing shadow in Padmé's peripheral vision.

"The Force is strong with you, My Lady," V'ar persisted. "As strong as with those who are selected to receive Jedi training. You know instinctively what others don't – things that sometimes are hard to explain."

_Not you, too! Anakin always insists…_ Padmé instinctively put a hand over her mouth, afraid that she had said it out loud. The Jedi waited politely, so presumably she hadn't. She put the hand back in her lap, and grabbed it with the other one. Pulling herself together, she finally had the presence of mind to demand, "Why would a Jedi Knight pledge herself to help Anakin? Why have you really come here?"

In spite of Padmé's harsh tone, V'ar smiled, which was quite disconcerting.

"I am a Knight of the Jedi Order, it is true. I grew up with Anakin. I trained with him. In fact, he was my teacher once. I have seen him only twice since his… departure… from the Order; most recently at the Chancellor's Reception. I sensed his deep worry about you, and I offered to help."

"Why?"

V'ar stared at her with an odd light in her eyes that made Padmé want to squirm. "I wonder, Senator Amidala, whether you understand your true importance to the Galaxy at this point in time? You shine like a kind of beacon in the Force; even more so … recently. To the Force-sensitive, the connection between you and Anakin registers as a powerful constellation, much like a lodestar in the night sky. "

Padmé was stunned into silence. She stared at V'ar, hoping that her mouth hadn't fallen open. A corresponding silence emanated from Sabé, so dense that it was almost palpable.

V'ar kept talking, seemingly unfazed by their reaction. "This almost visible presence of yours is all the more remarkable because, for some time now, the Force has become clouded with what I can only describe as a creeping darkness. It is a darkness that clouds the perceptions of even the wisest Jedi Masters. It blinds us. But it does more than that."

Sabé crept closer to Padmé. V'ar's eyes gleamed, never wavering from Padmé's.

"Left unchecked, this… darkness… creeps into the hearts and souls of everyone whom it touches, not just those for whom the Force is a constant guide. It brings resignation. Hopelessness. Eventually, even despair. And it begets these feelings so subtly that people begin to believe in their own unhappiness. They begin to believe that they are powerless. And so, these things come to pass."

_Anakin…Anakin…Anakin…_ Padmé had seen these things. She had seen them in him. A faint tremor went through her, a tremor that wouldn't stop, and Sabé stepped forward to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. V'ar saw it, and smiled yet again. She always seemed to be smiling. Sabé's grip on Padmé's shoulder tightened convulsively, startling her prematurely into speech.

"I… I don't… I don't understand what you think I …"

"…what you will do?" V'ar finished for her. "What role you play, and will play in the future? I don't know, My Lady. I don't presume to know. I only know that the light is worth preserving at all costs. You are such a light." The radiance V'ar spoke about was almost visible in her golden eyes. Padmé stared into their depths, fascinated. "I am here to help preserve the light."

"Does the Jedi Council know that you are here?" Sabé asked sharply.

"I have the full knowledge and permission of the Council," Va'r said serenely. "I left a mission with Obi-Wan Kenobi to come here."

"Obi-Wan?" Padmé whispered.

Sabé's reaction was the opposite. "Kenobi!" Her tone was deadly. "You can't be serious."

"He is the source of my news."

News? What news? Oh... Padmé had completely forgotten that there was to be news.

"It is obvious to me that you don't fully understand the Senator's position," Sabé hissed. "There is a history here. If by bullying your way into her affairs, however well-intentioned, you have endangered the Senator in any way…" Padmé quickly found Sabé's hand and squeezed it, but she was not to be deterred, "… I will see to it personally that this is the last thing you ever do."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, too, protects the light," V'ar said simply. "His mission is in support one of your earlier initiatives, My Lady. Senator Organa will vouch for that. I can say no more, other than to assure you that Obi-Wan is well aware of the nuances of your position, and that neither of us has any intention of endangering you. Quite the opposite." She stood up. "But I wanted you to know that Anakin is on his way here as we speak."

"Anakin!" Padmé found her voice, her wits and her feet at the same time and shot out of her seat to face the Jedi eye to eye. "Obi-Wan saw Anakin?"

"They spoke." V'ar's ready smile broke out again. "Anakin will most likely have an interesting tale to tell."

"When will he arrive?" Padmé demanded.

"Soon." V'ar backed away. "I will go and leave you to your rest. But please know that I am at your service, whatever you need."

"We'll see about that," Sabé muttered under her breath.

Padmé didn't pay attention. She was momentarily transported by a memory – Anakin's face, as he entered a room that he claimed she had filled with light.

_Light? My light…_

Was it true? Had this _…light… _somehow transformed him the night he had returned to her, nearly broken, after seeing Obi-wan in the Palpatine's office? Had _...light..._ chased away his shadows?

"One more thing, My Lady." V'ar paused at the door. "The fatigue you are suffering is most likely related to a mineral imbalance that is quite common in your condition."

Sabé jumped for the Jedi and grabbed her arm. "What imbalance? What do you know about it?"

"I don't know specifics." V'ar was patient; courteous. "I perceive these things as images – in this case, as crystals missing from the matrix of the blood. A trained healer can determine what is amiss, and I'm sure, correct it easily." Gently, very gently, she removed Sabé's hand from her arm and bowed to Padmé. "Goodbye, My Lady. Good rest." With that, the baffling Jedi slipped out the door and was gone.

Sabé stared after her. "What did she mean, 'in your condition'? Don't tell me she knows …"

Padmé quivered a little as all the tension began to leave her body and a pleasant, warm, heavy feeling crept through her veins. Her eyelids fluttered, wanting to close.

"Sabé," she whispered, swaying. Sabé was instantly by her side, holding her up and steering her back to the divan.

"Are you all right, My Lady?"

"I think I can sleep now." Padmé felt herself being eased down onto the divan. The last thing she remembered before slipping into a soft, deep, peaceful slumber was the sound of Anakin's voice saying, "Padmé… you're full of light… you make everything better…"

x

_Halfway there. _

In Anakin's determined hands, the _Defiance_ hurtled toward her destination as inexorably as an arrow loosed from a bow. The small Outlier planet of Esh-Col was too near for a hyperspace jump, but far enough away at sublight speed to pose a real risk that somewhere, somehow, her flight would be detected, if anyone cared to look.

Still, not going wasn't an option; neither was proceeding slowly and more stealthily. All Anakin could do to reduce the risk was to get there as fast as possible. The blastboat's powerful engines had been shrieking in protest since he'd left Nowhere's cloaked perimeter. Ignoring their whining, Anakin had set his course, slammed his pure will into the engines, and pushed harder.

_Halfway there._

He'd plundered his onboard data storage unit for the little information that was available about the small planet of Esh-Col: part of the group of planets referred to as the Outlier System, it was relatively remote, and only habitable because of an unusual core that served as a kind of thermal storage facility. This made for an unstable climate, so there was no permanent population. The most recent data he could access without opening up ship's communications to the Galaxy-wide Comms Net put the transitory refugee population at about 30,000 people. It was said to be the largest facility of its kind in the system.

If they only knew.

Anakin hadn't had access to the Holonet since Pell had picked him up, and he wasn't about to catch a signal now, so he had no idea how the Outreach Alliance delegation was progressing. He just knew that Esh-Col had been the delegation's ultimate destination, so to Esh-Col he would go. He had no idea what to expect when he arrived; no clue how to slip onto the planet and into Padmé's circle unnoticed. It didn't bother him. He would deal with those problems when they arose. He knew that food and supplies had to be shipped onto the planet to support its refugee population; presumably he could bluff his way in under cover of some shipment or other. There was always a way.

_Halfway there; no, more than that now. Still a few hours to go. _

Impatience flared, because once he had done all he could to get underway, had learned about his destination, had set his course and pushed his little ship to its limits; once there was nothing left to do but to keep watch and to wait, Anakin had time to reflect.

Not that he wanted to reflect on anything that had happened to him in the past few days. Far from it. But the clear, pure blaze of action and intent had burned away all available distractions, leaving Anakin alone with the images and impressions that haunted his inner world. He stared out the viewscreen at a galaxy of stars, seeing only Obi-Wan Kenobi's face.

There were so many things that Obi-Wan could have said to him, so many things that lay between them. Obi-Wan had spoken about none of them. Anakin didn't know whether to be relieved or outraged. He had to admit, somewhat grudgingly, that Obi-Wan had treated him with respect. He had acknowledged that Padmé was his wife. He had shown him a completely unexpected level of trust – Bel Iblis' rage at Anakin's presence in that secret meeting had been completely understandable. And then, Obi-Wan had asked for his help.

Anakin didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to think because he didn't know what to feel. He didn't know what to feel because he was quite sure he would not have extended himself to Obi-Wan in the same way, had their positions been reversed. He would not have been so forgiving.

But was it forgiveness, or was it merely guile on Obi-Wan's part? The Obi-Wan of Nowhere was nothing like the Obi-Wan of Anakin's past. The man was closed, locked down, as shielded as a blast door. It was impossible to sense anything from him other than the business at hand. He could have been absolutely straightforward, or he could just as easily have been playing Anakin for a fool. The impression he had given would have been the same either way, because Obi-Wan – the Obi-Wan Anakin had once known – had disappeared. For the very first time, Anakin wondered whether he appeared the same way to Obi-Wan: as a stranger in a familiar guise.

As a matter of habit Anakin let his eyes range over the readouts and displays before him in the cockpit.

_Engines holding. Navigation on track. More than halfway there; coming up on the last third of the journey. Scans… no, wait, what's that?_

Something slid across the scanner display so quickly that Anakin couldn't be sure he'd seen it. If it had been there, it might have indicated the faint traces of a long-range scan – very long range. He stared at the display. Nothing. It wasn't unusual to be washed by such a wide scanner sweep from so far away; powerful as she was for her size, a tiny ship like the _Defiance_ wouldn't register as more than a stray signal from that distance. It wasn't anything to be concerned…

There it was again. The identical flicker. Anakin set the flight computer to calculate the minute signal's exact cycle, should it recur. He waited. It recurred. He pounced.

_Got it._

It was a signal, all right, but it could only have come from a very long range scan. Nothing to worry about, unless the pattern of the sweeps suggested a local target. Even so…

There it was again.

It was beginning to seem … deliberate. At that range? Surely not. He was imagining things. To be on the safe side, he enhanced the signal as much as possible. It was too diffuse to tell much about its origins, other than that it emitted from the direction of…

Working backwards, Anakin estimated the distance to the scan's origins and began plotting probable location coordinates. The results put its source somewhere along the far border of the Corellia system. He sat back, thinking hard. What kind of ship had that kind of long range scanning capability? It would have to be something of a good size, probably military. A star destroyer, maybe, the size of the _Victorious_, with similar capabilities…

The hairs at the back of Anakin's neck rose up, making him shiver, and all at once a realization hit him. The past few days had been different, startlingly different from the weeks and months he had passed before. In Nowhere he had felt freer, somehow. Lighter. More able to act, to think, to decide; better able to breathe. He hadn't really been aware of it until the memory of life aboard the _Victorious_ reminded him full force of his life back on Coruscant, in the clutches of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.

Anakin's shiver of recognition turned into an aching chill. Palpatine, cold, implacable, demanding, rose up before him in his mind's eye, filling his consciousness until Anakin couldn't see or imagine anything else. He tried to opening his eyes wider; he tried closing them. He tried looking away. He tried controlling his breathing, focusing on the _Defiance__'s_ navigation, getting up and pacing off the short distance from the cockpit back to the bunkroom and then back again. He tried replacing the image with others that held great power for him – Padmé, of course. His mother. Even Obi-Wan. But Palpatine's image continued to predominate, distorting the other images, blotting them out; a memory gone out of control. Echoes of the Chancellor's presence filled Anakin's mind, his lungs, his skin; a shadow-voice echoed in his ears, over and over again: _You will serve me…_

"No," Anakin said out loud, needing the sound of his own voice to ground him in the reality of the present. "No."

The sense of being overwhelmed grew deeper, wider, darker. Image morphed into feeling: a stark, hopeless, wary feeling that spiraled beyond the exciting game of danger, beyond even the fight-or-flight response of life-and-death choice, into the airless dead-end of inevitability. He felt crushed. Destroyed. Unable to breathe.

**_Anakin…_** something whispered in his mind. Something new. Someone… He gulped air. Cold sweat trickled down his neck.

**_Anakin, focus!_**

A wholly unexpected new image jumped into the chaos of Anakin's mind; something straightforward, practical, and absorbing enough to capture his attention and yet potent enough to resonate in his heart: the fountain in the middle of Nowhere, where he had encountered Qui-Gon Jinn.

Just days before – _was it only days?_ – Anakin had memorized the lines and curves of its structure, calculated its flow rate and studied the materials from which it was made. Now he clung to those details the way a climber clutches a single handhold in a sheer rock face to keep from falling to his death.

**_That's it. Hold the image in your mind._**

Anakin struggled to comply. The fountain faded in and out, a faint glimmer in a dark abyss.

**_Hold it, Anakin! Hold that image above all else. Open your heart to it._**

Despite the darkness that surrounded him, the lone, bright image of the fountain – sparkling, playful, alive – stood fast. Anakin held onto it with everything that he was.

**_You can prevail, Anakin._**

It was Qui-Gon's voice, but more important was the sense of him – of his being - nearby. Anakin wasn't alone. Dimly, he began to become aware of himself again, of his will, and of something that might have been strength.

_Use it,_ Qui-Gon's voice directed. _Use **your strength to enliven your own image. Don't waste it in fighting the darkness.**_ It wasn't an order so much as a reminder. There was no effort to control Anakin in those words, only the promise of freedom.

Anakin struggled against hopelessness. The Force wove garlands around him, sending bright showers of spark out into the darkness. By the power of his will, of his desire, of his command, Anakin ignited the sparks into stars. The darkness recoiled. In time – a minute or a millennium, Anakin had no sense of it – the oppression finally receded altogether, leaving him trembling in the starlit cockpit of his small ship, somewhere in the blackness of space that wasn't nearly as dark as what he had just seen.

Both exhilarated and drained, Anakin took a lingering breath and found that he was indeed free again – for the moment. His mind was clear and his body felt strong and battle-ready, but his newly-won clarity of thinking didn't allow him to feel the least sense of triumph. He knew that he would be made to pay for having won this skirmish. Somehow, some way, he would pay for it dearly.

He glanced at the navigation display.

_Three-quarters of the way there..._

Suddenly things no longer seemed so simple.

x

Far away in the Coruscant dusk, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic sat so still in his darkening office that time itself seemed to be suspended around him. No one entered the room. No signals flashed or sounded. Not even the sound of a breath disturbed the gloaming. The deathlike silence lasted until the final disappearance of the last ray of sunlight, when with a small movement of his hand, Palpatine reached for his comm. console.

"Get me Captain Tarkin," he snapped, the words tearing through the spiteful silence. "And then cancel my evening appointments. I have business elsewhere."


	25. Chapter 24 Storm Warnings

**Chapter 24. Storm Warnings**

"It's a desolate place," Captain Typho murmured. "Harsh, unstable, and not self-sustaining." Even from this distance, swirling cloud cover was visible on the planet that loomed ever larger in the Yacht's forward viewscreen. Between the whorls of milky white, broad streaks of yellow and orange augured dry, rocky terrain.

"Good enough for refugees, then," Dormé suggested dryly beside him. "It's not much of a sacrifice to offer in charity something you can't use yourself."

"I wouldn't be that hard on the Corellians. The refugee camps need to be serviced, after all, and they've taken the whole burden on themselves. Although how they manage to keep traffic moving in and out of this place…" Typho grabbed Dormé protectively by the shoulders as the first shudders of contact with the atmosphere quickly turned into wrenching twists and lurches.

"This is like flying straight into a wall," one of the pilots in front of them muttered, then glanced guiltily over his shoulder at the Senator's Chief of Security before returning, more guardedly, to his task.

"Let's go strap in," Typho insisted, shoving Dormé off the bridge and into the salon beyond.

"I can't remember the last time I had to do this," Dormé complained, but she obediently found the nearest secure seat. When the next shuddering jolt hit the ship, she shot Typo a grateful glance. "People do this all the time? They must have some pilots."

Typho shrugged. "If somebody doesn't fly in and out of here on a regular basis, people don't eat."

"Perhaps the Outreach Alliance will be able to find a better alternative. The publicity alone ought to bring more contributions, if nothing else." Dormé frowned suddenly as a new thought hit her. "The Holonet crew we brought on board hasn't sent a single holo-transmission since we left Talus. That wasn't the agreement we had with them. Are they going to be able to transmit from down there, with the atmospheric conditions as they are?"

Another lurch made it seem that the yacht was coming apart at the seams. In spite of herself, Dormé gripped the arms of her seat and held on tightly. Typho placed a reassuring hand over hers.

"I don't know. I'd go ask them, if I didn't think they were all huddled in their quarters being sick right about now."

Dormé grinned. "If they thought following Padmé around was going to be the key to an easy life, they've got something else coming!"

"Would you rather be safely back on Coruscant?" Typho asked slyly.

"Don't be ridiculous." Dormé settled herself as comfortably as she could, and held on for dear life as a long ripple of shudders passed through the ship. "Someone has to save Padmé from herself."

Typho laughed. "At least _he_ isn't around doubling the trouble."

Dormé scowled. "You never know," she said grimly. "You just never know."

x

Dellia looked up from her work and her heart jumped; just like that, it jumped. Hewas standing right in front of her. She hadn't even heard him come into the office.

"Yes?" she said cautiously, and then berated herself for not having been more charming.

It didn't matter. He smiled down at her from his lanky height.

"We haven't formally met." His voice was a clear tenor. Despite his exotic looks, he spoke Basic perfectly, without the slightest accent or regional inflection. "Don't you think it's time we did?"

Dellia swallowed. "Is it?"

"I've seen you around the hallways and the refectories. I just didn't know that you were attached to Senator Amidala's staff."

"You didn't?" Dellia offered inadequately. Inside, all she could think was, _You noticed me?_

Her unforthcoming replies didn't seem to daunt him at all.

"I'm Aeron. I'm Senator Organa's personal assistant." Casually, he tossed a data disc up in the air and caught it again. Dellia watched its glittering trajectory dumbly. "I've already got a lot of material for Senator Amidala from Senator Organa, and it's guaranteed only to get worse with this Outreach Alliance junket. It might be easier to stay on top of things if we talked regularly. "He smiled, and Dellia's pulse fluttered a little… just enough to drive any awareness from her head that it was often more efficient to communicate by comm.

"I… yes," she rushed to agree. "Won't you … won't you sit down?"

"I have a better idea." He leaned toward her and offered her the disc with an open hand. Dellia swallowed, and took it, startling a little as her fingers brushed his palm. "It's midday. Would you like to share a meal? If you have the time, that is…"

"Oh, yes!" Dellia was on her feet before the words rushed out of her mouth, and then she felt herself blushing because of her unseemly haste. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_ she quickly secured the data disc.

He didn't appear to take any notice of her awkwardness, but merely invited her, with an archaically gallant gesture, to precede him out the door. "Is the Delegation staff refectory all right with you? Unfortunately, I have to be back in an hour, and it's closest."

"Oh, yes!" Dellia blurted again, and then stammered, "I... I have to be back then, too…"

The tall young Alderaani with the striking head of white hair, the one whom Dellia couldn't help following with her eyes wherever she saw him, laughed. "I guess it's the same in every Delegation Office," he teased, escorting her graciously out into the corridor and correctly averting his eyes as she activated the security locks. "We do all the work, and they get all the glory…

x

The telltale signal of a long-range sensor sweep remained on the scopes for the remainder of Anakin's journey. By the time Esh-Col finally appeared in the viewscreen of the _Defiance_he felt as exposed as a moving target in a blaster range. He might have temporarily shaken off one kind of tormenter, but any lingering hope that the tracking signal was a fluke had vanished.

So much for the freedom of no one knowing where you are.

Without any real expectations, Anakin stretched out his awareness in the Force toward the probable source of the signal. As he had surmised, he couldn't discern any single consciousness or directed intent that might be connected with it, just as he couldn't determine signal's source.

Not without getting closer to it, anyway.

Anakin toyed briefly with the idea of facing down his unknown enemy, of turning straight into the beam and following it to its source. In truth, he didn't care who was tracking him, or why; he was only interested in what could be done about it. His primary mission hadn't changed: Padmé was on the planet below, and he needed to see her. He couldn't under any circumstances afford to be seen doing it, though. Palpatine's warning had been explicit. Nor could he turn back to Nowhere; the tag on his back would lead whoever was at the other end of that signal straight there. What alternative was left to him? Turning away and going somewhere else to create a false trail? It was too late for that gambit. He already had arrived.

While Anakin analyzed the situation logically, while he asked himself all the right questions and answered them rationally, the _Defiance_ continued to draw closer to the planet below as if she had a will of her own. Nothing acted on her to slow her down. Nothing turned her away from her original path.

When he realized what he was doing, Anakin laughed. A non-decision is still a decision.

_All right, then. I'll find a way._

x

"So… you're all alone?"

Dellia couldn't get over Aeron's eyes. They were slate-dark without a fleck of color in them, and yet somehow, seemed to be alight from within. She already had decided that it was his sheer intelligence that lit them; now, as he touched so lightly on the center of her existence, it seemed that uncanny sensitivity was another explanation for it. He picked up the slightest nuances; asked the most perceptive questions. Startled, she stumbled back into a stammer.

"I… uh… alone?" _Yes, I am alone._

"In the office, I mean." He jumped easily back into the conversation to help her out. "With Senator Amidala gone, the Naboo Delegation Offices seem deserted." He grinned. "Except for you, of course."

"Oh, the offices… yes. Senator Amidala preferred to automate most of it in her absence. I'm there to keep an eye on things, and to make sure she remains informed about all important legislative developments." Dellia squared her shoulders unconsciously. "The Senator says she prefers to rely on the judgment of an intelligent being about what is significant and what can wait."

"She is wise." Aeron played briefly with his empty teacup, depriving Dellia of the light in his eyes. She studied the curve of his face instead, where white strands of his hair feathered over high cheekbones. "I worry about Senator Organa's safety on this journey, even though he took a good security team with him." He looked up earnestly. "Our convoy was attacked on our return to Coruscant not along ago. Right here in the Core, too."

"Attacked! By whom?"

"The Republic Army Commander who rescued us blamed pirates. We never found out for sure." He blinked, as though he'd just thought of something. "You must know him, actually – it was Commander Skywalker! Talk about coincidences."

Dellia flinched, but strove to keep her expression neutral.

"You didn't believe him, then? About the pirates?"

Aeron shrugged and looked up at her through his white lashes. Even the smallest movement he made was graceful. "Who knows whom to believe any longer?"

Dellia sighed deeply. "I know."

"Such gloom!" He patted her hand in a friendly way. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to darken your day."

"Oh, you haven't! Quite the opposite. In fact…" Dellia surged ahead bravely, barely daring to believe that she was being so bold, "…I'm very glad for the company. As you pointed out, I've been mostly on my own since the Senator and her entourage left."

"Well," Aeron said decisively as he pushed away from the table, "we can't have that!" He stood up and offered his hand to pull Dellia to her feet. She took it gladly. "Unfortunately, we should go if I'm going to escort you back to your office."

"You don't have to do that!" Dellia laughed.

"Perhaps not, but I would like to." The old-fashioned courtliness returned, and he ushered her between the refectory tables with a light, correct touch on her elbow. Dellia basked in the attention.

The Delegation Office wing refectory opened onto a wide lobby with multiple corridors leading off it. The Alderaan and Naboo offices were in opposite directions. True to his word, Aeron steered her skillfully across the crowded lobby in the direction of the Naboo Delegation's office, never letting go of her elbow. He had just begun to tell her a funny story about an encounter between two Senators who were sworn enemies and a malfunctioning protocol droid when something made Dellia look up toward the vast bank of windows, where she glimpsed a familiar figure. Master Windu appeared to be deep in conversation with another Jedi, but just as she passed, he nodded to her briefly, and even gave her the ghost of a smile. Warmed and reassured, Dellia nodded and smiled in return, but then quickly returned her attention to Aeron, and managed to laugh in the right place in his story.

This was a good day. A very good day. She hadn't had many of those lately.

x

The bridge crew of the _Tantive IV _made ready for a rough landing while attentively watching the progress of the of a large storm system on the planet below.

"Captain Antilles?" Tension was audible in the Nav. officer's voice. "Our window of opportunity for landing at the rendezvous point is closing rapidly. That storm is growing worse."

"Understood. What is the status of the other ships in the Delegation?"

"Three ships arrived the rendezvous point hours ago, Sir," the Comms. Officer jumped in. "The Naboo Delegation ship went in just ahead of us and is expected to land shortly." He hesitated. "We lost communication with them after they entered the storm."

"Can we communicate with the ground?"

"No, Sir, we lost all ground comms. at about the same time that we lost contact with the Naboo."

Captain Antilles activated the link to the Viceroy's on-board office.

"It's now or never, Viceroy Organa. Our entry will be tough going as it is."

"I understand, Captain, but first I need a top security comm. link to my Senate offices on Coruscant."

"Aye, Sir." Captain Antilles agreed, and then nodded at the Comms. Officer, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

"Do it," the Captain ordered.

The Nav. officer stared balefully at the streaming weather information from the planet below. It would have been highly inappropriate, under the circumstances, to express his concerns about the price of the delay that the Viceroy demanded. So he didn't.

But he really didn't like the looks of that storm.

x

Aeron got back to his office to find the secure comm. link signaling insistently.

"I'm here," he gasped when the security protocols were complete.

"It's about time! We'll make landfall on Esh-Col soon, and it's not certain the atmospheric conditions will permit communication while we are on the surface."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I was at midday meal."

"Don't tell me you're actually taking time out for meals in my absence, Aeron?"

"I was at midday meal," Aeron countered serenely, "with Senator Amidala's Secretary. Indeed, she appears to be more than a Secretary – she is functioning as a Personal Assistant. Running the office single-handedly in the Senator's absence, as a matter of fact."

"And?" Senator Organa's voice crackled with anticipation.

"Well, Sir, she strikes me as being remarkably ill-informed for a personal Assistant."

"Ill-informed, Aeron? Or merely discreet? Is it possible that she is impervious to your charms and playing the innocent?"

"That is of course quite possible, Sir. But I did get the distinct impression that she is dealt with as a staff member who does not have her employer's full trust. Her job is purely routine, mostly limited to managing the flow of work related to legislation. She wasn't even aware of the recent changes in the Delegation's itinerary."

"That's it, Aeron? That's all the information you have for me? You _have_ been taking long mealtimes. I suggest you go back to eating at your desk and use your time to do some real work for me."

"Of course, Sir. As you wish. It's just …"

"Just what, Aeron? Out with it. I'm short of time."

"I have to ask myself, Sir, why Jedi Master Windu would take the trouble to personally acknowledge a passing low-level staff member in a public lobby of the Senate."

"Acknowledge? How do you mean?"

"He smiled at her, Sir. And she smiled back."

There was a silence at the other end. Aeron enjoyed imagining that it was due to shock.

"Jedi Master Windu smiled?"

"That he did, Sir. Briefly. At Senator Amidala's Secretary."

"Master Windu smiled. A once-in-a-thousand-years event, and I missed it."

"It was a thrilling sight, Sir."

"Aeron, I think you should go out for your meals more often. In fact, have your evening meal at your favorite restaurant at my expense. You might even want to bring someone with you for company – someone interesting enough to elicit a smile, however fleeting, from a certain stone-faced Jedi Master."

"Thank you, Sir. As it happens, that was my plan."

"Good man, Aeron. I must go. Carry on." The communications link cut out abruptly.

Aeron frowned at the device in his hand. He loved his job, he really did. He respected the Viceroy above all men, and shared his passionate vision for the future of Alderaan and for the Galaxy. Just sometimes, particularly recently, things had begun to seem less clear, as though a kind of fog were settling over everything and everyone.

Secrecy, mistrust, and hidden dangers seemed to preoccupy most of the Senate at present. The boundaries between what was right and what was expedient – the kinds of boundaries the Viceroy always had held sacrosanct – were growing blurred. The only Senators who still seemed to care about the fate of the Galaxy were the few who formed Senator Organa's fragile opposition group, and possibly, Senator Amidala.

Possibly.

Moodily, Aeron sat down and stared out the window at the streams of traffic outside, thinking about the trusting girl with the sad rust-brown eyes. What could young Dellia of Naboo possibly have done to lose her employer's confidence? Did it have anything to do with her obvious dislike of the Senator's husband?

Who was that enigmatic husband, really? Skywalker had emerged from the Jedi Temple's age-old veil of secrecy to become a part of the Supreme Chancellor's highly influential inner circle. At the same time, Skywalker's erstwhile Jedi Master had been entrusted with the dangerous secret of Senator Organa's opposition group.

The potential for treachery was staggering.

No wonder Viceroy Organa was so concerned about Senator Amidala's safety. Despite her having withdrawn from any connection with it, the little group's fate seemed largely to rest on the Naboo Senator's slender shoulders.

Aeron roused himself. He would make arrangements for another meeting with Senator Amidala's innocent-seeming and obviously lonely secretary, and he would stop feeling so ashamed of doing so. He picked up his comm. link again to make the call.

x

Having made his decision to go forward, Anakin set the _Defiance's_ heavily modified comms. array to eavesdrop on transmissions to and from the Esh-Col refugee colonies. Even tapping into the local chatter was a big risk, but he had to know what he faced.

As it turned out, he faced the same thing that confronted everyone on the planet and every ship trying to approach it: a broad band of storms was menacing a broad band of the planet's habitable mid-zone with high winds and electromagnetic disturbances. Communication was collapsing everywhere. Anakin had just enough time to overhear several ships being advised against attempting to land until the storm had passed, when all comms. connections with the ground broke off. He couldn't be sure because of the massive interference from the storm, but it sounded as though one of the incoming ships might be Bail Organa's _Tantive IV_.

Anakin raised the_ Defiance's_ shields and studied the clouds that churned below. Defensive shields would protect the ship from any flying particles, but would be no help against the structural stresses brought on by the shear of high winds.

If Organa was nearby, then Padmé was out there somewhere, too. He wondered whether she already had made landfall. His feelings told him that all was well, so he wasn't worried. Besides, the ever-cautious Typho never would allow her ship to attempt landing in _that_. Reassured, he turned his full attention to the tempestuous atmospheric conditions. It had been a long time since Anakin had felt this challenged as a pilot. But the storm was his ally; he couldn't have arranged a better cover for a stealthy entry.

He caught it head on, adjusting his angle of entry, and then adjusting it again as the blastboat hurtled into the blanket of whirling gray-brown and white. Vibrating from the atmospheric pressures, just a little at first, and then more and more violently, The _Defiance_ tried to fly sideways and upward despite the downward and forward thrust of her powerful engines. The twisting made her groan.

Anakin held fast, making adjustments as fast as the winds around him shifted. The little ship fought him fiercely. He fought back, rejoicing in the battle. He opened himself wide to the mindless surge of roiling energy that warped the atmosphere into an indiscriminate bludgeon, detecting and even anticipating its movements, leaping in his perceptions from one momentary opening, from one tiny pause, to the next. Dragged along in the wake of Anakin's encompassing awareness, the _Defiance_ surfed the clouds like a wild winged creature hurled from wave to wave by a stormy sea.

Fighting the winds, fighting his ship and flying blind but for his dialogue with the Force, Anakin laughed from the sheer thrill of his hard-fought descent, the sound of his pleasure swallowed up by the howling outside. His consciousness spread out like wings. Power sang in his blood. Elation vibrated in his bones.

A shadow shot into his awareness, making him dive sharply in a shattering evasive maneuver. Seconds later a series of short, hard bounds ended in a violent ricochet, as if the _Defiance_ had hit a wall at full throttle. The pilot's seat tore loose from its moorings, ripping his hands from the controls. With Anakin still strapped helplessly into it, the chair flew backward to smash heavily into the bulkhead behind, rocking his head backward so hard that he lost consciousness for a moment. The next thing he knew, the viewscreen had darkened into a uniform shade of gray. Between bouts of shaking that threatened to tear the blastboat apart, deadweight mashed him into the broken chair, pushing his stomach up toward his throat.

It felt as though the blast boat was caught in the pull of something that was descending fast while struggling to remain aloft. Mostly it seemed to be falling, not flying, and the _Defiance_ was falling with it. With a wrench, Anakin fought gravity and the straps that held him to lurch forward onto his knees before the console. It wasn't much help to know his airspeed or rate of descent, or that the _Defiance's_ engines were still operational, when navigation and steering weren't functioning.

Anakin struggled to regain his full consciousness, and in a mighty effort, sent it out again on burning wings. Images besieged him – a large ship with a three burned-out portside engines bucking in the storm, struggling to hold its course; his own tiny ship wedged against her underbelly, enslaved by the crippled, falling giant's drag. If he didn't break free, if the larger ship didn't regain control, the _Defiance_ would either burn up or be crushed in the impact of the inevitable crash.

_Come on, come on, come on…_ Anakin urged as he struggled to regain control over the Defiance as she rolled and dived helplessly in the grip of the larger ship. Thousands of feet later Anakin finally wrestled back a modicum of control over her steering, and threw the blastboat's powerful engines and his unswerving will into an almighty effort to escape. With a final roar and shudder she broke free, and the viewscreen lightened once again to show, amid the dense clouds, the listing form of a Corellian-made blockade runner.

Anakin realized that he knew the ship. It was the _Tantive IV_.

Constantly fighting the merciless winds, Anakin dropped away to a safer distance only to see a fourth engine, and then a fifth, flame out and die. _How stupid to link them in a series - she's going to list…._ He could both see and sense her pilot's pitched battle to keep the Alderani starship straight and steady, but sure enough, the cluster of one-sided flameouts, coupled with the raging gale, sent her into the beginnings of an end over end tumble. If she began to spin, that was it.

He had rescued Organa's ship once before, not long ago, in what seemed like a different lifetime. It seemed that she needed rescuing again.

Anakin heaved himself into the intact copilot's seat and tried unsuccessfully to raise the _Tantive IV_ ship-to ship. Pushing the _Defiance_ until she groaned, he drew alongside the listing ship to study the problem, assess the winds, and calculate the time that was left.

There wasn't much. Something had to be done. In a single wild and joyous flash of inspiration, Anakin knew what it was.

He knew _exactly_ what to do.

His plan depended on the _Defiance's_ engines operating at full capacity, and on the cooperation of the _Tantive IV's_ pilots. Anakin double and triple-checked his engines as quickly as he could, and then, revving them to full power, shot around to the front of the slowly tumbling Alderaani ship where he could be seen and flashed the pilots until he thought he had their attention.

That was the easy part. He hoped they would understand his intent well enough to help.

Ramping up the _Defiance's_ power output even more, Anakin shot over the crippled ship in a ragged, wind-riven loop that was as accurate as the storm allowed, and waited impatiently for the right opportunity to slip the blastboat underneath the bank of failed engines on the _Tantive IV's_ port side. Gritting his teeth in concentration, orchestrating the controls on pure instinct, he eased the Defiance upward until she scraped against the dead engine's housing with a jarring screech that made him flinch in pain. Hyper-aware as he was, the Defiance's skin felt like his own. Easing up the throttle, and holding on to his position despite the gale, he pressed the blastboat tightly against the big ship, a surrogate engine with a plan of its own.

Now it was up to the other pilot to work with him. Anakin closed his eyes and all but disappeared into the Force.

x

"My Lady?"

"Come in, Captain." Padmé looked up from the documents she had been working through since the worst landing in recent memory had woken her from a deep sleep. Sabé hadn't been there when she woke; nor were the comms. working. Presumably Sabé had gone to find out if all was well. She hadn't come straight back, so Padmé had put herself to rights and decided to use the time while her staff and crew sorted things out to catch up on work. Considering how little she had slept, she felt a great deal stronger and better.

"Please, My Lady…" Captain Typho looked so stricken that Padmé froze.

"What is it?"

He looked around hurriedly. Dormé appeared behind him, slipped inside the cabin and seated herself by Padmé's side. She, too, had an odd expression on her face.

"What is it, Captain? Have communications been restored? Do we have a status report yet?"

'No, My Lady. The comms. are still out, so I sent a shuttle to see how the other Delegation members weathered the storm." The Captain lingered just inside the door to her cabin, looking acutely uncomfortable. The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss.

"What happened? Is someone hurt?"

Typho looked away, and then at Dormé, who took Padmé's hand in hers. That was very disconcerting.

"Out with it, Captain."

"The Alderaan Delegation had a bad time of it in the storm, My Lady. They crashed on landing; their ship was badly damaged."

"Bail?" Padmé sat bolt upright. "Is Bail … Senator Organa… all right?"

"He is," Typho assured her quickly. "Remarkably, everyone on board the Alderaan ship is safe, although a few were injured."

By this time Dormé was squeezing her hand so hard it ached. It was so clear that there was more the Captain wanted to say, but didn't know how to say it. Padmé watched him and waited because she couldn't do anything else.

"A wreck was found, My Lady… the wreckage of a ship that, apparently, was also involved in the crash." Typho looked helpless. He had never, even under the worst circumstances, looked this helpless. Padmé stared at him, hot-eyed. "We just got word that the vessel has been identified."

Silence.

"It was a small ship, too badly damaged to check its registry, I was told. But enough debris has been found to identify it as a blast boat." Typho looked down. "There aren't many of those around."

"Blast boat," Padmé repeated. "Any…"

"…survivors? No, My Lady. None were found." Typho looked so shaky that Padmé wanted reach out to steady him. She would have, if she hadn't been frozen through and through.

The silence between them petrified. Normal sounds filled the corridor outside Padmé's stateroom. Boots walking on durasteel floors. A low murmur of voices. A soft exclamation, followed by barely audible laughter. The faint whoosh of doors sliding open and closing.

It all seemed so far away.

Captain Typho shifted. "My Lady, I'm so sorry…"

"No!" Padmé snapped, anger blossoming like fireworks. "I will not hear this!"

Right behind Typho the door to Padmé's suite slid open without warning, making both him and Padmé flinch. Sabé appeared, with a wicked gleam in her eye. "My Lady, look what I bagged for you in …!"

"GET OUT!" Padmé roared, the blast making Typho retreat so suddenly he back straight into Sabé.

"_oof…_ the galley," Sabé finished in confusion. "What?"

"OUT!"

Typho and Sabé stared at her, open-mouthed. Padmé wanted to lash out at them, to wring both of their necks, to shred their skin with clawed fingers. She wanted to tear out their hearts.

A new face appeared from behind Sabé, peering cautiously around the door frame – filthy, streaked with sweat and blood, and looking very ... penitent. I'm really sorry, Padmé," Anakin said contritely into the deadly silence. "I had to kill the _Defiance._"


	26. Chapter 25 Survivors

**Chapter 25. Survivors**

"Say something."

Anakin lay acquiescently, if not patiently, where he had been ordered to on the comfortable divan in Padmé's stateroom on the Yacht. Stern and silent, Padmé hunched over him, her soft hair pooling on his belly, while over and over again her fingers traced lines of bruising and scorched flesh on the skin of his chest and arms . He shivered under her touch. It wasn't from pain; he didn't care much about that, and besides, the salves had taken care of most of it.

It was her silence, the accusation in her fingertips, that made him quake.

"Padmé, please say something. Aren't you happy to see me?"

The shimmering oval of her face was shadowed by her hair; the sweep of her lashes hid her eyes, which looked only at the mottled flesh beneath her hand. The third time she traced the same purpling welt down his side and along his hip he couldn't bear it any longer; he sat up and reached for her roughly, ignoring the dizziness that mocked his sudden movement. Even locked tightly in his embrace, Padmé drooped against him while her hands explored the new landscape on his back. Anakin tried to bury his face in her neck, and when that didn't satisfy, he worked his way up to her mouth, desperate to pull a breath of life and passion out of her quiet melancholy. She barely responded, sharpening his distress.

"Padmé…"

"Roll over. I want to look at your back."

"You've seen my back already." Rebellious, he lay back down on it, ignoring the new throb of pain, pulling her down with him. "That's enough now." Feeling utterly abandoned in the face of her inwardness, Anakin could only hold her helplessly against his chest, wishing for the blast of fury that had scorched him when he had first arrived. How much better to be consumed in her flame than to be silently mourned!

"Padmé," he protested, his voice beginning to fray, "if you don't stop this right now you'll really have something to mourn. I can survive duels and wars and any number of crash landings, but I cannot survive this silent misery."

Her weight on his chest increased, as if she were draining into him.

"I thought you were dead," she said at last.

"That was the whole point."

She pulled away from his grasp and lifted her face to his, a hand's breadth from his nose. "You don't understand. _I thought you were dead." _

They stared at one another.

"With any luck," Anakin said obstinately, "a great many people will think that."

"I thought you were gone from me. _Forever_."

A kind of dim comprehension began to penetrate Anakin's general exasperation. She had honestly, truly, genuinely believed him dead. The idea was outrageous.

"You should have known better!"

"_What?" _Padmé sat back sharply, making him wince. "How can you say that?" She gave his shoulders a furious shake, making him wince again. _Ow. _That was something, anyway. At least she was coming back to life.

"Padmé, did you stop for one moment to _feel _whether it was true?"

"I was told straight out!" "Captain Typho… Dormé …" The very air around her spat with fury. That was _much _better.

"Did you? Or did you just believe what you were told?"

"What else could I have done? It seemed so final… they were so convinced…"

"It doesn't matter what other people think or know. It only matters what _you _know. I promise you, Padmé, if that day ever comes, you will know for yourself that I'm gone, in the same way that nothing will ever convince me of your death unless I experience it for myself. "

"You're talking about the Force again," she sulked.

"No, I'm not. I learned my lesson on Naboo, when I couldn't find you anywhere in the Force, so I began to believe that you were gone. But you weren't." He braved her sputtering aura until they were nose to nose. "Never again. This is beyond the Force. You are part of me. I will know when you are gone the way I knew when I lost my arm. Worse, even. I will feel it as though someone cut out this_... " _He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his heart. "The same is true for you, I know it is."

A whole series of heartbeats pulsed under her hand until Padmé finally ventured, "You did this on purpose? This was part of a plan?"

"Let's just say the opportunity and the idea appeared at the same time. Organa's ship got in trouble all by itself, but I could have saved the blastboat, if I'd tried." Irritably he added, "I thought you'd be mad at me about that, not about showing up alive!"

"You were dead! "

"I just explained that!"

Padmé looked daggers at him, but her hand stayed pressed against his heart. The atmosphere around her grew more pliant. Her lips parted a little, enough for Anakin to decide that it was time for a serious, no-holds-barred kiss. He had fought his way to her through storm and fire, and for his trouble, he hadn't been properly and appreciatively kissed since he'd arrived.

"Just how… how _dead _do you want to be?" Padmé asked as he was about to pounce.

Anakin hesitated. "What do you mean, how dead?"

"Are we supposed to plan your ceremony of passing? Announce it over the Holonet? Do I have to weep and wail in public, and wear mourning clothes for a year?" Padmé collapsed dramatically against his shoulder, dashing Anakin's hopes for immediate succor. "Besides, quite a lot of people know that you're alive… Captain Typho, Sabé, Dormé… _oh_. " A thought struck her. "You should know that V'ar is here…"

"I know. I've felt her presence, and I guarantee you that she has felt mine. I was going to ask you about that." Anakin found that he had lost interest in the subject of death, of V'ar, or any other business they might discuss. He only cared about being kissed. "Later." His eager mouth found the nearest part of Padmé, which happened to be her hair. He buried his face in it. She didn't move away, so he moved on to her temple. She nestled into his neck, leaving him free to nuzzle his way down to her cheek.

"She just showed up. She said she had made you a promise to look after me."

"Do we have to talk about this right now?" The more Padmé relaxed into his arms, the less he wanted to think about anything but the heat of her skin, the curve of her body against his, and the singular brightness in the Force that was hers alone.

… _curves… brightness…_

… _wait a minute!…_

Padmé yelped in surprise when, in a single breathless moment, their positions reversed. Suddenly she lay where he had lain, while Anakin sat over her, running his hands over her abdomen and hips with rapt attention. "Look at this!" he crowed. "New curves!"

Padmé propped herself up on her elbows to watch. "I told you that once I started to show, it would go fast."

"I haven't been gone that long, but there's such a difference…" He rested his face on the firm low mound of her belly, listening and feeling with all of his senses for the bright energy pulse within. It was vivid, but elusive. Trying to make a connection with it was like dipping fingers into a bright stream to capture the sunlight that lay on top of the water. As soon as he had it in his grasp, it was gone. He chased the tantalizing sparkle, only to have it slip away again.

"Where are you, Anakin? Padmé prompted gently, bringing him back from far away. "You got lost."

"Trying to have a conversation with…" It was there, just beyond his reach, dancing and playing with him. He just couldn't…

"… your daughter?" Padmé suggested.

Is it? Anakin wondered. He slanted a look up at Padmé through his lashes. "Or your son. I can't really…" The Force seemed to laugh at him. Holding her hips so that she couldn't wiggle away, he said firmly to the white flesh of her belly, "Remember this, little light: always assume that reports of your father's death are greatly exaggerated!"

A deep silence formed around them, a well of stillness broken only by Padmé's surprised intake of breath. "I felt something!" she whispered. "Something moved!"

"I'm not surprised," Anakin agreed, nibbling gently on her stomach. "You should see what it's like in the Force…"

"Anakin…" The hitch in her voice made him glance up. The expression on her face brought him climbing up her body, straight into her arms. "I'm sorry, Anakin," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I was angry with you. I let my fear get the best of me. It won't happen again."

"So," Anakin murmured against the longed-for touch of her lips. "You are glad to see me?"

"I have never been happier about anything in my life."

It was all he required. He was where he wanted to be; where he needed to be. He was home.

x

The wild storm had scarcely abated when a solitary figure shrouded in a light brown cloak slipped away from the sleek form of the Nubian starship and streaked across the bare landing plain at a steady, ground-eating run. Dawn on Esh-Col crept up reluctantly at best. The dark red soil, barely re-settled after the storm, blew up in clouds with the runner's every footfall, darkening her way even more.

The stony plateau that served as the refugee colony's landing platform was as broad as it was high above the ground. By the time she had reached its rim, grudging fingers of yellowish light were spreading across the wide swathe of low, gray-green vegetation on the flat plain below. There didn't appear to be an easy way down; the plateau rested on steep, craggy reddish cliffs and there was no sign of a path, much less a road. Breathing easily after her exertion, the runner lowered her hood and raised a hand to her eyes, searching below for any signs of civilized habitation. At first glance, and at second, and at third, the landscape appeared to be alone under the sky, bare to the forces of nature. She turned to look behind her, studying the slope of the plateau, the ridges around the edge of the escarpment; even the movement of the clouds in the brightening sky. Tiny in the distance, the lone starship glinted in the early light like a single lost bead.

The illusion of emptiness was very well done.

Unhesitatingly she leaped off the edge of the plateau onto a narrow ridge of rock that lay a distance of many times her height below. She landed lightly; barely a stone turned. A quick search through the Force led her along the ridge to a narrow shadow that her eyes would have overlooked. Sure enough, recessed far into the unremarkable crevice was a signal panel. There the idiom of the Force reached its limit, and V'ar had to rely on her best guess to activate the machine. She tried a sequence of signals, and then, when there was no result, she tried a few more. Eventually a deep rumbling that seemed to come from the ground told her that she had been successful. She stood back and waited.

Out of nowhere a rough capsule the size of a huge lift in a Coruscant office building rose up from the ground, still carrying its rocky disguise on its roof. A door slid open, revealing a sleepy-looking human of indeterminate age, wearing layers of tattered clothing and bristling with weapons. He looked her up and down sourly.

"I don't know you."

"I'm with the Naboo delegation."

He scowled. "Who?"

"The Refugee Outreach Alliance's visiting delegation."

"S'nothin' to do with me."

"There was an accident last night in the storm. Another one of the Delegation ships. I need your help in getting to it."

"No can do. This 'ere's the back door. Here I stay. Ya shouldn't be here anyways." He looked suddenly puzzled. "How'd ya get here, an 'all?"

"The scouts who brought us word of the wreck came this way."

"Go 'round the front. Other side of the butte."

"I'm in a hurry."

"I don't know you," the man said again, as though it explained everything, which, from his point of view, it did.

The problem was, V'ar really was in a hurry.

The colony's scouts who had fought their way through the last throes of the storm to bring news of the _Tantive IV's_ crash hadn't been very specific about where she had gone down. The Naboo, unhinged by the prospect of having to deliver Padmé the news of Anakin's probable demise, hadn't asked too many specific questions. Secure in the knowledge that Anakin was indeed safe, V'ar had followed the scouts from a distance. Someone needed to check on the Alderaanis, and V'ar needed to speak with Senator Organa before order was restored and the Delegation reconvened.

She stepped close to the man's nose, just outside the capsule. To his credit, he didn't back down.

With a light movement of her hand, V'ar intoned, "Take me to a transport now."

The man stared at her. "I said, I DON'T KNOW YOU."

Tough-minded, then.

V'ar thought longingly of her lightsaber and how quickly a streak of hot green light sizzling between them would change the man's mind, and sighed inwardly. "Well, someone does, or we wouldn't have been invited!" she snapped. "Surely you understand that the Outreach Alliance is here to help you and the people of this colony. I need transport so that we can do our job."

The man glowered. "Politicians," he muttered. "Had enough of y'ar kind of help, haven't we?" but he stepped aside. V'ar stepped past him into the capsule, which lurched downward with a stomach-churning jolt as soon as the door slid closed behind her. In short order the door opened again into a huge, dimly lit hangar crammed full of ships of all types and sizes. The transport ships and cargo freighters, large and small, made sense in a colony that was not economically self-sustaining. The refugees depended on those vessels for their lives. What surprised V'ar were the rows and rows of mismatched one-man fighters.

Seeing no other openings around the walls, V'ar looked up to study the ceiling, which was marked out by a grid of huge panels; hatches, most likely. At one side of the hangar long ramps led up to the hatches, providing access for ground vehicles. Evidently, the only way to get out was to go up. Behind her the doors of the crude lift slid closed again. Its guardian hadn't waited to be thanked, but it was clear that he had reported her presence, because an equally tattered and equally heavily armed team of… security personnel? …. very quickly appeared and surrounded her.

V'ar bowed to the group, singling out a short, heavyset human woman in the middle, whom she took to be the leader. "Peace be with you. Communications are not functioning on the Naboo starship, and I seek to make contact with the disabled ship of the Alderaani Delegation. We do not know its exact location. For this I need your help."

The craggy human bearing the blaster nearest V'ar's head snorted. "Comms are out everywhere, and likely to stay that way for a time. There's magnetic disturbances on this planet all the time, storm or no storm."

"Then it is even more imperative that I reach the Alderaani ship and the others as well, if that is the only way our group can communicate."

The heavyset woman stepped forward, proving V'ar right about which one was the leader. "Who are you?"

V'ar bowed again. "V'ar Taanil, general assistant to the Outreach Alliance, problem solver and troubleshooter, at your service." She smiled. "I'm the one that gets all the rotten assignments."

A few of the armed guards stifled snickers. The leader looked at her appraisingly, and then seemed to make up her mind all at once. She jerked her head toward the craggy one next to her. Bram'll take you over there. He's the one who investigated. It's a few spans west and south."

A few spans? V'ar wondered how Anakin had covered the distance. On foot, with the storm not yet subsided? "Thank you," she said to the man named Bram, studying him speculatively. He grunted in reply and lowered his blaster.

Minutes later V'ar was clinging to her seat in a beaten-up speeder that had shot up out of the hidden hangar and down the side of the butte like a guided missile. The air shields weren't working very well and the effect was like being back inside the night's storm, only without protection. Since conversation was impossible V'ar retreated inside the hood of her cloak, wondering more with each passing minute how Anakin had traversed the distance from the wreck to the Naboo starship.

The speeder finally slowed and V'ar emerged from her wrappings to see that they had entered a far-flung debris field. On the horizon she could make out the massive bulk of what might once have been a starship. "You say there were survivors?" she asked her guide, now that speech again was possible.

"All of 'em, they say," the man named Bram grunted. "Ya wouldn't think it, lookin' at the mess." He guided the speeder skillfully around jagged deposits of debris.

"There was another ship, we were told. A small one." V'ar studied the man's face closely as she spoke. "Your scouts said there were no survivors from that one."

"That's right," the man said shortly, and V'ar felt a sharp pang in her stomach that told her he was lying. He knew that someone had survived.

The _Tantive IV _lay on her side like a wounded sea creature on a desolate shore, her form mostly intact, but despoiled in every detail. Her extremities were open wounds; the engine housing at her tail was severely damaged. Deep gouges in her sides attested to the roughness of her landing and the loss of much vital equipment. It was a miracle her weapons hadn't detonated in the crash.

V'ar prodded a pile of twisted metal with her toe when she emerged from the speeder. "Looking at this, I don't understand how the Alderaan ship survived."

Bram already had gone straight to the housing of an engine – not one that had belonged to the starship, from the looks of it – that lay wedged under the starship's belly, and touched its cold, dead surface almost reverently. "There was some prodigious flyin' done last night, I'll certify that."

Reverence, yes. That was a good description of what she perceived. V'ar studied the man, who was no doubt an exceptional pilot himself, before returning straight back to business.

"So how do I get inside, with comms down? I how do I make my presence known?" The vast, curved side of the downed ship loomed nearly four stories above her head. The nearest thing that looked like an access hatch was high above.

Bram grinned. "Ya knock." He picked up a nearby rock that more than filled his broad, strong hand and heaved it toward a large hatch over their heads. The dull thwang when it hit the side of the ship reverberated across its length. It wasn't long before the hatch creaked open revealing a dark head and the shoulders and arms of a gray uniform.

"Senator Amidala sends greetings," V'ar shouted. "May I come aboard?"

x

"I'm glad to know that Padmé and her people are well." Bail rubbed his forehead wearily. "Is there any news of the other members of the delegation?"

"Not yet, no. When I left, the Naboo were still dusting themselves off and waiting for comms to be restored, but I have since learned that we can't count on that happening. Without comms our only option is face-to-face communication. That is going to take time. "

"This will put the Delegation's visit to the colony far behind schedule."

"To say the least." Bail's visitor looked at him intently through her golden eyes. "But it seems to me that for the moment you have more immediate concerns than the Outreach Alliance's mission."

_Isn't that the truth,_ Bail's Grandmother's voice snapped.

_Please,_ Bail begged. _Not now._

_Pull yourself together_, she shot back, and then fell mercifully silent. Bail stopped rubbing his forehead and sat up straighter.

"The Colony representatives who came to check on us offered us transport off-planet any time we want it, so that won't be a problem even if comms are never restored. My people are fine…" Bail fought down a wave of emotion..."miraculously enough. I don't see any reason to cut short our planned visit, or our participation in the Delegation's program."

"The colonists are quite interesting," V'ar remarked. "From the little I have seen of them they struck me as extraordinary pilots."

Bail closed his eyes, rocked by the memory of violent freefall and the screams of his staff as their ship rolled and twisted and fell…

"Senator Organa?" The young Jedi's voice brought him back to himself. "Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry." Bail opened his eyes again and tried to focus on the conversation. "It's just that… we killed one of their extraordinary pilots. Last night. He saved us, but lost his own life in the process."

His visitor didn't say anything at first. Bail took it for silent sympathy. "They deal with these weather conditions, and with the intermittent communications, all the time," she said finally. "They know the risks."

"I don't know how they do it."

"They have no choice."

Bail fell silent.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" his visitor asked gently.

"Someone died on my behalf," he said bleakly after a while, "There is no remedy for that."

V'ar's hand drifted to rest lightly on her stomach. "He knew what he was doing. He must have known the risks."

"Still…" Bail shrugged.

"That's the real reason you're remaining here with the delegation, isn't it?" V'ar suggested after another interval. "To find a way to repay the colonists for their loss."

"Between us, the Delegation members will find a way to get these off this terrible planet – to find them real homes." He attempted a little smile, but without much success. "Somehow."

V'ar stood up. "I have more visits to make, to the other member of the Delegation. Because of the storm we all landed in very different locations. Do you have ground craft aboard?"

Bail stood up, too, trying to think. At this juncture the damage reports were still flooding in by the minute. It was hard to think of anything that wasn't damaged. "We had several speeders on board. I don't know whether they are intact."

"I will ask the colonists to keep an eye on you until comms return."

"Thank you." V'ar's hand still rested on her stomach, Bail noticed. He didn't know why he noticed. He just did.

Long after the Jedi took her leave Bail remained standing in the shattered remains of his on-board study, staring into the recesses of his own mind and heart, where the death of one embodied all the deaths of an immoral, illegal war, and all the deaths yet to come.

x

"Sabé! Wait."

Sabé turned around in the narrow gangway between the galley and the service lockers to see V'ar hurrying toward her – if it could be said that the Twi'lek Jedi ever hurried. Mostly she seemed to flow from one place to another, at some times faster than at others.

V'ar held out a bundle of what looked like alternating layers of light-colored and rust-colored rough cloth. "He'll need this."

Sabé peered at the suspect object, but didn't take it.

"Clothing." V'ar pushed the bundle toward her until Sabé had to take it.

"It looks like a bundle of rags," Sabé sniffed, dusting a fine layer of red dust off the bundle, and then off her own bodice where the offending bundle had touched it.

"Local clothing."

Sabé looked at V'ar. "What makes you think…?"

"He'll have to go again. You know that. He can't hide in here forever."

Sabé looked around quickly, wondering whether anyone could overhear their hushed, cryptic conversation.

"It's all right," V'ar assured her quickly.

_Jedi.__Bah._ Sabé always found them unnerving, which she masked behind hostility. But Jedi prescience wasn't half as unnerving as the idea of Padmé's mood if Anakin left again after all this.

"Don't worry," V'ar whispered. "I think he has found some friends nearby who will hide him."

Sabé glared at her, intensely disliking the feeling that the Jedi somehow knew what she was thinking.

V'ar smiled, bowed, and disappeared beyond the galley.

For the first time in a long time Padmé woke up without knowing quite where she was, or what had brought her back from far away. She felt warm and peaceful, and as she came back to herself, she became aware of the steady rise and fall of Anakin's chest under her check. She breathed deeply in rhythm with his breaths until a soft knock at the door of her cabin brought her fully into wakefulness. It could only be Sabé or Dormé. Everyone else used the chime.

Reluctantly she pushed herself away from Anakin and sat up, looking down at him with the faint sense of wonder that never left her where he was concerned. He was deeply, and apparently dreamlessly, asleep, with his good arm curled under his head and the metallic limb flung out across her pillow. Even in the low light of the cabin his skin looked better. The mottling was beginning to subside and the burns no longer looked as raw. A few more treatments with the burn salves and he should be all right again.

Once again, he had survived the unsurvivable. Padmé wondered how many times he could repeat that miracle before mortality caught up with him – yes, before it caught up even with Anakin, who seemed to offer his life as freely and as unconditionally as he offered his love.

Another soft knock. Padmé reluctantly slid off the bed and padded to the door, which she allowed to slide open only a crack.

"How is he?" Sabé whispered.

"Alive." Padmé whispered back, and added, significantly, "sleeping."

"V'ar brought him some local clothes." Sabé held a tattered bundle up to the crack in the door, which Padmé reluctantly allowed to open wide enough to pull the bundle through. She wasn't ready to open it up all the way. Not yet. Sabé seemed to understand, because she disappeared again without further comment.

When Padmé turned around clutching the bundle to her chest she cried out in surprise to see Anakin's wide awake blue eyes staring at her steadily.

"Sabé," she explained quickly, rooted to the spot. "She brought you clothes…"

"Come here," Anakin said.

She went, tossing the bundle aside somewhere in the short distance between the door and his arms.

"We haven't talked about what you are going to do now," she said into his neck.

"No," he agreed, pulling her close.

"Or what I'm supposed to do about you."

"Forget about what happens next," he murmured.

Padmé was more than willing to let time stop and the worlds beyond them recede. Her willingness to totally abandon everything that loomed just beyond her cabin door was richly rewarded with a soul-deep plunge into a timeless place without pain or fear or worry – a plunge, in essence, into her source. She let herself slide beneath the surface of her existence, where there was neither light nor dark; where she and Anakin were no longer separate, but merged, dissolved into one another as salt dissolves in the sea. Elemental. Quintessential. Whole.

The world beyond could wait.


	27. Chapter 26 Red Dust

**Chapter 26. Red Dust**

From a distance the refugee colony on Esh-Col looked like a sprawling cluster of reddish earthen mounds. It was only up close that their solid framing of local stone and imported plastisteel became evident. The streets between the structures looked like beaten earth because the paving, like everything else, was covered by a shifting layer of gritty red dust. While earth-sheltered bunkers comprised most of the temporary city's structures, a few buildings were recessed into caves and cliffs of the high plateaus that formed its southern boundary. The towering butte that sheltered the sealed-in space port was a whole span to the south, making it seem to those who landed on Esh-Col for the first time that they had arrived in the middle of a wasteland.

There was water on Esh-Col - enough to create cloud and weather and to support a thin layer of scrubby vegetation and small local animal life and to distill drinking water for the colony. Food production was another matter entirely; the vegetation and animal life were inedible. The colonists depended on an armada of transport ships for their precarious existence in the middle of nothingness.

The colony's Corellian overseers had appointed a small body of representatives called the Sitting Council to oversee the day-to-day management of the encampment, which had rapidly grown to the size of a small city. The colonists referred to them, with sour wit, as 'the Sitters.' More respected by their peers were the refugee city's pilots, who were referred to collectively as 'the Runners.' In a place where food could not be produced and communications were so often disrupted that face-to-face contact was the norm, the Runners provided the vital links between residents and the worlds beyond that made the settlement's uncertain existence possible. The Pilots' guild had its own leaders who set their own agenda. Everyone knew that the Guild actually ran the colony: the Runners were its heart and soul.

But they were even more than that. Daring, hard-bitten, committed, and fundamentally ungovernable, the pilots and transport drivers of Esh-Col were the colonists' heroes.

The visit by the glamorous offworlders brought excitement to the refugee colony. To the children, the newcomers were a marvelous spectacle; their ships were luxurious, their clothing, exotic, and they never seemed to go anywhere without their colorfully uniformed security contingent, each one different. None of the senators could go anywhere in the colony without attracting a large, noisy and curious gaggle of young ones.

To many of the adults, the Delegation members' heavily protected, almost glamorous existence was a source of bitterness – a reminder of the lifestyles, professional status, and sense of personal safety that they had lost. Politics had cost them their birthrights, and yet these politicians had the nerve to come among them, assuring them of help. Where had they been with their help when they had been forced to flee their homes, giving up everything they had? Why weren't they back on Coruscant seeing to it that the war ended?

Still, the adult colonists too followed every step in the Delegation's progress. They packed the public meeting halls for the information sessions. They thronged every briefing. If nothing else, the Outreach Alliance's visit provided a rare diversion in an otherwise rough and monotone existence. On a planet whose unstable magnetic fields discouraged even the ubiquitous Holonet transmissions, the Delegation's visit had all the drawing power of a festival, even when the open meetings were used to air bitter grievances.

Only the Runners seemed untouched by the colonist's volatile gut-level responses to the Delegation's visit, whether hopeful or hostile. With the arrival of the off worlders the pilots were busier than usual; the damaged Delegation ships needed all kinds of assistance, and the Senators paid far better than the Corellian government did. No, the Runners' were excited about something else entirely. The Alliance's visit paled by comparison to their current obsession.

For once, the rough-and–ready Runners, the rogues of Esh-Col, the heroes of the populace, had a hero of their own.

x

"You look happy," Dormé commented on the way to yet another town meeting. The only way to get there was by walking. There wasn't a meeting room anywhere on Esh-Col that could hold all the people who wanted to gawk at the visitors or to hear what they had to say.

The Naboo group was the last in the long procession of Delegation representatives who were crossing the makeshift town between one meeting hall and another, because Padmé was dawdling – smiling, waving, and occasionally stopping to chat briefly with one person or another whom she recognized from previous meetings. Every time she stopped, Captain Typho glowered at her from across the street, where he and his security team were grimly handing out sweets to children on her orders.

"I suppose I am." Padmé smoothed down the heavy fabric of her robe to brush away the grime that had settled on it. "I feel free."

Dormé caught the gesture and grinned. "Don't we all!"

Padmé was overjoyed not to be in the forefront of the procession, minding every word she said while her jealous colleagues muttered and rumbled behind her. Quite a few of her colleagues had resented the fact that the holonet crew had invariably singled her out for the spotlight. This time the publicity-seekers were jostling for position at the front of the group, while Padmé dragged her feet happily behind.

It was all thanks to the red dust of Esh-Col.

It was remarkable how easily Esh-Col's red soil penetrated everything: clothing, hair, vehicles, machinery. Padmé had even found herself eyeing plates of freshly prepared food with suspicion, searching for telltale smudges of the red grit. The grainy, stealthy, ever-present dust – the dust that eventually reduced every person and object on the planet to a uniform frontier shabbiness and made engine maintenance a job with guaranteed overtime pay – had given her back some of her freedom.

Padmé laughed out loud just thinking about it. Dormé waved cheerfully at Captain Typho, whoscowled in their direction at the sound.

"I thought he likes children," Dormé fussed.

"He just hates being more than three steps away from me." Padmé soothed.

It seemed that the dust of Esh-Col had an uncanny ability to foul delicate holo-transmission equipment. After a mere two days of unrelenting equipment trouble on top of discovering that the constant magnetic disturbances impeded transmissions, the Holonet crew had entirely abandoned its task of documenting the Outreach Alliance's mission and demanded transport back to Talus. As their host, it had fallen to Padmé to renegotiate their contract and to arrange their transportation off-planet.

"They've been looking for a way out since our landing in the storm made them all sick," Sabé had sniffed upon hearing the news.

"Apparently dust isn't in fashion at the moment," Dormé had murmured with rare malice.

"I want to be rid of them as much as you do," Padmé had agreed. "I just don't know how to get them off-planet. None of the Delegation groups with functional ships are willing to loan them."

With Anakin's arrival, her reasons for inviting Holonet coverage had evaporated. Publicity no longer meant safety; it meant exposure. The hardships of the refugee planet had provided the perfect excuse to change the plan.

"I'll take care of it," Anakin had offered suddenly from the divan in Padmé's quarters where he had sprawled, quietly covering it with red dust, while listening to the conversation.

"How?" Sabé had demanded suspiciously.

"They'll be gone before sunset tomorrow. You don't need to worry about a thing."

Padmé had studied him speculatively, wondering whether to question him in front of her team or to trust him to solve the problem without her intervention. Anakin had spent every day on Esh-Col out on the planet somewhere, doing no one-knew-what and sneaking back to Padmé at night. He had looked confident and relaxed lying on her dusty bench in his layers of pale, rough clothing. Not having a better alternative at hand, Padmé had agreed, resolving to cross-examine him later.

True to Anakin's word, a local transport had picked up the Holonet crew and all their equipment the following midday. Later, in response to her private questions, Anakin had explained that arrangements had been made for the crew to be given passage off world on a cargo flight to Talus.

"It seems that you have made friends with the locals," Padmé had observed.

"You could say that." Anakin's grin had been particularly roguish.

"When are you going to tell me what you're up to?"

"In time," he'd said cryptically, while playing with strands of her hair.

Padmé had crossed her arms and studied him, deciding to make one more attempt to get an answer to her most burning question. "When are you going to tell me what you're doing here, and what all this means… for us?" The question always made her throat tighten. "For our plans?"

"Soon," he'd murmured, making a point of being very, very distracting. "As soon as I'm sure. Trust me just a little longer."

The distraction had succeeded. Padmé still hadn't gotten a straight answer out of him. She had no idea how long they would remain on Esh-Col or where they would go afterward… and yet… and yet… in many ways she felt more at ease than she had in recent memory.

Without the constant need to appear perfectly and fashionably dressed, and sensitive to the contrast between Coruscant glamour and the gritty poverty of the Esh-Col refugees, Padmé had adopted simpler, more comfortable clothing, and had demanded that her staff do the same. Instead of talking all the time, she spent her time listening and learning. In the same way that she watched the colonists by day, she studied Anakin by night when he came to her out of the shadows. It struck her that the two sides of this existence, the daytime and the nighttime, formed a harmony that had not existed back on Coruscant. It was only in that rough, wild place, exposed to the elements and to the living face of the miseries wrought by the war that Padmé began truly to believe that there might be a way to find a peaceful future.

Hope had sprouted soft and green in the dry red soil of Esh-Col; and so Padmé dawdled, and chatted, and distributed sweets, and trusted that Anakin would find a way.

x

V'ar, meanwhile, spent her days on Esh-Col in a small cave high up in the cliff of a bluff not far from the plateau where the Naboo starship had landed. She liked the privacy it afforded for meditation. She liked the wide view over the plain below. Most of all, she liked being able to survey the comings and goings at the hidden spaceport, which could not be seen from the settlement.

The Senators and their entourages had been given lodgings in the town while their starships had been secured under makeshift protection from the pernicious wind-driven dust. Every day, V'ar left them to their official duties and retreated to her cave. No one ever bothered her there; so on the evening of the third day on Esh-Col, when she sensed someone climbing directly toward her, she went on full alert.

When she realized who it was, she let her defenses down only a little.

"Nice," Anakin said without preamble, once he'd climbed up inside. Uninvited, he settled himself beside her and looked around her aerie. "I wondered why you come here every day."

"Nice to see you, too," V'ar commented dryly. "I wondered when you'd bother to say hello."

Anakin snorted and kept looking at the plain below. "I generally know where you are."

"It's not the same thing," V'ar pointed out. "It lacks that personal touch." When Anakin didn't answer, she added, "Do you even want to know why I'm here? I went to a lot of trouble."

"Your choice. Not mine." Anakin stretched out and leaned back on his elbow, looking perfectly at ease, and regarded her from under his lashes.

"And?"

He shrugged. "The Jedi always did like to keep an eye on me."

"Don't flatter yourself that you're that important."

Anakin looked away, out at the distant horizon. There was a long silence before he finally asked, "then why did you come?"

"It's your wife that's important. I promised that I would look after her – remember? On the night of the Chancellor's reception, when she proposed this trip."

Anakin's posture didn't change, but the sense of ease that he had exuded ended as abruptly as his inner shielding went up. "The last time the Jedi tried to keep her safe she almost died."

"Obi-Wan told me about it. He has never forgiven himself for that, I think."

Anakin's mouth thinned and twisted, as though her words hurt him. "Anyway," he went on quickly, as if avoiding further discussion about that topic, "what makes you think that I need your help?'

V'ar smiled sweetly. "Well, you certainly want something from me now. Any Padawan could tell that. It's the only reason you're here."

Anakin shook his head, hiding the answering twitch at the side of his mouth. "I didn't know I was so out of practice."

"It's easy to slip when you haven't got any competition."

Anakin kept a straight face but his eyes glinted. "I see."

V'ar studied him. "So? What do you want from me?"

"Have you done any flying lately?"

"A little. Why?"

"I need you to help me win a bet of sorts."

V'ar burst into hearty laughter. "Decades of Jedi training between us, and this is what we use it for? Does that seem in any way wrong to you?"

Anakin was playing with some small stones on the cave floor, arranging them neatly into patterns. He didn't look up. "Depends what the stakes are, wouldn't you say?"

V'ar sobered up instantly. "What are the stakes?"

"Loyalty," Anakin said to the stones.

V'ar watched him in silence for a while, but her eyes weren't really seeing him. Her gaze was turned inward, to the bright, lucid core of her being. When she returned to Anakin, the stones lay between them in a series of interlocking circles, each complete in itself, and yet each dependent on the next to form the larger pattern.

"Whose loyalty, Anakin?"

He didn't look at her. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

V'ar pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She breathed deeply, as she had been taught to do in situations that required extra calm and good judgment. She did everything within her power to master the irrational urge to grab Anakin by the throat and shake him until he talked.

"What will it take to get you to talk to me straight and true?" she asked evenly, throttling her knees as she wanted to throttle him. "Tell me what you are trying to do. We can discuss it." She took another preparatory breath before plunging on and looked up, only to find him staring at her. Their eyes locked, straight and true, and the rest of her speech died before it reached her lips. The air around them wavered like a mirage as Anakin's shields fell away. V'ar's consciousness touched his: a drop of water hitting a searing hot surface. Her scorched mind leaped and spit; her insides felt incinerated. She recoiled.

"Do you sense that?" Anakin whispered.

In retreat from the molten core that had seared her mind, V'ar's senses flashed images of being surrounded, encircled, trapped. Two tiny figures sat at the center of a sea of stars. The horizons were a ring of flames, a high wall of destruction, coming toward them equally from all directions. Swiftly, ever more swiftly, the circle was closing, moving toward its center, blotting out the all the stars in its path. V'ar cried out and broke through the vision by reaching out to grab Anakin by the shoulders. The vision vanished.

Her hands unclenched and she released him slowly. "What is to be done?" she choked.

"What do you do when you step out on a tightrope, V'ar?"

"What do you mean?"

"Say you have to walk a tightrope." Anakin's voice didn't rise above a whisper. "You've already stepped out onto it. There is no going back. What would happen if you stood there discussing every step before you take it?"

"I'd lose my balance pretty quickly."

"What would you have to do to make it across?"

"I'd concentrate. Move quickly. Focus on the goal, not the steps."

"Exactly." Anakin folded his legs under him and stood up in a single fluid motion. "I have to move fast. Will you help me? "

Looking up at him, V'ar understood how little time she had to decide on her next move. Although Anakin still stood quietly in front of her gazing out at the wide plain below, the space where he stood seemed empty, as if he already had moved on. She knew that he would not ask for her help again. If she wanted to keep any chance of remaining within his sphere, this was the moment she must seize. She rose and brushed herself off. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to come with me right now, follow my lead, and fly the seven hells out of a starfighter."

"I can do that," V'ar agreed, and followed him out of her shelter and down the steep face of the cliff below.

x

"Padmé!" Bail called out, but he didn't think she had heard him. He'd spent the entire public meeting planning to catch up with her afterward, but she had been up and out the door before he could make his way to her. Padmé seemed to move quickly and easily in the crowd; in her plain clothing, with her abundant hair pulled back into a neat knot at the back of her head, she practically disappeared into it.

There she was, just outside the meeting hall. "Padmé!" Bail called out again, a little more urgently than he had wanted to. The few days on Esh Col had passed like a blur, and while he had shared many public appearances with Padmé since their stormy arrival in the colony, the opportunity to speak with her privately had eluded him. But his last conversation with Aeron weighed heavily on his mind. He hurried after her.

When Bail finally caught up with her, Padmé already had merged into the throng that swirled and eddied in the dusty square beyond. She stopped at once when she heard his voice, and instantly two of her ever-present minders, her security Captain and her Handmaiden, Dormé, slipped closer to Padmé, flanking her on either side.

_Good,_ Bail thought as he struggled his way toward her. _Just hold her there. I need to talk to her… _

Padmé beckoned him closer with a genuine, heartwarming smile. "Bail!"

"At last. Here you are." Bail lightly grasped her elbow with the dim impulse of anchoring her to the spot for a moment, just long enough for a talk. She always seemed to be on her way somewhere else lately. Immediately two of his own burly assistants – the Viceroy didn't like to refer to his protectors as 'bodyguards' – jostled subtly for position with Padmé's stubborn guardians, and they were once again surrounded.

"Tough crowd," Bail said lamely while he struggled to think of a way to have a conversation with her in private.

"Can you blame them?" Padmé said soberly. "If our roles were reversed, would you believe anything we said?"

"I would want to listen," Bail said, a little surprised at her defensiveness on the refugees' behalf. "I would want to hold on to any hope that came my way."

"Oh, come, Bail. They have lost everything. What can we truly offer them as long as the war continues?"

Bail studied her attentively. In the pleasure of her presence, the mêlée around them seemed to recede from his consciousness. "We offer continued support," he said reasonably. "Supplies. The possibility of work in sympathetic star systems. The possibility of a life. Those are not small things."

"If you were in their place, would it be enough?"

Something about Padmé's deep identification with these people twisted Bail's heart. "We are doing everything we can for them, Padmé. Everything that is in our power."

Bail was glad he was still holding onto her elbow, because when she didn't answer right away, he felt the space between them grow in distance. He glanced around impatiently. "I need to talk to you alone. We need to find a way." He was genuinely startled when Padmé burst into hearty laughter.

"Oh, Bail," she gasped, "don't you realize that at the moment this is one of safest, most private places in the Galaxy? All comms. are down. No one can get in or out very easily. The Holonet people are gone. We could all disappear and no one would miss us for quite a while."

Bail didn't share her evident pleasure in that thought. "I have some news," he murmured insistently. "News that I received just before our… landing."

Padmé glanced at her glowering Captain of Security and then at her Handmaiden. "Any suggestions?"

The Captain set his mouth in a stubborn line. It was the Handmaiden who smiled suddenly. "As a matter of fact," Dormé said sweetly, "I have."

x

Less than an hour later Bail found himself pleasantly jammed between Padmé and another of her Handmaidens, the one called Sabé, in the back of a sleek Naboo speeder that was being piloted by a stone-faced Captain Typho. Beside Typho on the seat in the front was a large container that held what Sabé had referred to only as 'provisions'. Behind them in the third seat Bail's two burly assistants clung on tightly as the speeder ascended a rough, poorly-marked track to one of the many plateaus that ringed Esh-Col's temperate central plain.

It appeared that on a remote and rough planet, in the middle of a Galactic war, Bail Organa, Viceroy of Alderaan and leader-by-default of a nascent illegal rebellion, was on his way to a picnic.

Bail leaned back against the speeder's high-backed seat, watching Padmé out of the corner of his eye while she gazed out over the rocky landscape. Tendrils of her hair that the wind had teased out of confinement played around her face. She looked young, serene, and remote. Bail wondered where she was in her thoughts. She had been silent for a long time.

But then, so had he.

At length the speeder stopped at the top of a small butte. There wasn't much vegetation on the flat top; only a few rock outcroppings and a great deal of dust. The real attraction of the place was the view. To Bail's left, once he had climbed out of the speeder to take it in, lay the refugee colony of Esh-Col; to the right, a curving chain of similar buttes and larger plateaus extended into the hazy horizon as far as the eye could see.

Padmé came up beside him while her staff and his busied themselves with creating a comfortable place to eat. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is, in its own way," Bail admitted. Then, to his own surprise, he blurted out, "I miss Alderaan. I miss the water, and the mountains. I miss the way light of early morning makes everything glow like flame. I miss civilized life. Do you know," he turned to her abruptly, "I can't remember the last time I heard any really wonderful music, or went dancing under the stars."

Padmé wrapped both of her arms around his nearest one in silent sympathy, and Bail immediately felt the earlier distance between them close.

"In a way we're all refugees, Bail. The war has changed everything. For many of us, home doesn't even exist any longer, except in our hearts."

"You feel great sympathy for these people. It is almost as if you identify with them. It's written all over you. But you have a home. You can go back to Naboo at any time."

"The war will catch up with us. It will reach everywhere, and overrun us all. There is no more going home until it is over. That is the truth that these people – these refugees – have learned, while the politicians back on Coruscant, who still believe that the war is taking place largely in the Outer Rim, remain in denial." She looked up at him. "It's all gone, Bail. We have passed the point that divides all that went before from all that is yet to come."

Bail stared out over the plain below with eyes that burned. _Damn the wind and the dust. _"Do you really believe that?"

The potent silence that followed made Bail turn away from the vista and down at his companion, who still clung to his arm. Padmé's eyes met his. "I'm pregnant, Bail. All of a sudden, forging a future for myself and my family means more to me than holding onto the past. It means everything."

Bail stared at her. A great many things suddenly began to make sense. _Mind your manners! _his grandmother's voice snapped unexpectedly in his head, and he quickly choked out a polite "Congratulations" through the dust that seemed to coat his throat.

Padmé smiled, but Bail couldn't. "You're not coming back with us, are you?" he rasped. "You're… you're going to become one of them. A refugee. In fact… you already are."

Padmé flicked a glance over her shoulder where the voices of their loyal guardians were growing ever more cheerful as fragrant aromas began to waft out of the 'provisions' box, and lowered her voice. "I haven't told anyone else yet. Not even my staff…"

"Oh, Padmé." Bail didn't know what to say. He couldn't stop a shuddering sigh from escaping his heart. "That makes the news I have for you seem quite mundane by comparison."

"What news?"

Quickly Bail outlined the picture he had received from Aeron. Padmé bit her lip thoughtfully while she listened.

"Midday meal is ready, Sabé said suddenly from right behind them. "What was that about Dellia?"

"It seems that she has a grudge against Anakin, and possibly against me," Padmé summarized, "and that she is unaccountably friendly with certain members of the Jedi Council."

"Why, that little…" Sabé burst out heatedly, and then frowned. "What interest could the Jedi Council have in what you do? I don't follow."

"I'm not sure I understand it, either," Padmé said. "But it must have something to do with Anakin." She glanced cautiously at Bail. "He has a history with the Jedi…"

Bail cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I know. I became suspicious when V'ar Taanil suddenly showed up and insisted on joining the Delegation. Then she seemed to want to spend all of her time hovering around you. But like you, I don't yet understand how all of this connects."

"I'll find out," Sabé muttered, "if it's the last thing I do…but first we need to ship Dellia back to Naboo on the next transport." She glared at Padmé. It's time to end this junket and go back to Coruscant to take care of business, wouldn't you say, My Lady?"

"Whatever you've concocted over there certainly smells good," Bail offered gallantly, assiduously avoiding Padmé's eyes. "Perhaps we should eat before it gets cold. Then we can figure out our next steps." Padmé squeezed his arm warmly in appreciation for the diversion.

Despite the heaviness in Bail's soul, he deeply enjoyed the meal that the Naboo had provided. His devoted guards seemed to relish it even more than he did. The galley on the _Tantive IV_ had been inoperative since the crash, and the Alderaani had subsisted on emergency meal packs and the rough offerings of Esh Col. Bail took pleasure in his bodyguards' enjoyment of the good food, encouraged them to eat their fill, and kept up his end of the conversation. But all through the meal, despite his best efforts not to, he found himself studying Padmé. Did she understand what she was doing, leaving the civilized realms behind? He wished… he wished… _It doesn't matter what you wish for, boy,_ his grandmother's voice snapped. _What's done is done._

Without warning, the relative quiet of their breezy aerie was broken by the screaming whine of what could only be a starfighter. As one, the picnickers leaped to their feet, shading their eyes against the midday glare to follow the progress of not one, but two one-man fighters that seemingly exploded out of nowhere and ripped into the pale grey skies with series of impossible loops. Flying as though they were glued together, the fighters executed a series of complex maneuvers at speeds that made them hard to follow with the naked eye, even at a distance with the huge canvas of the sky as their backdrop.

"Holy blazing sons of the seventh pit!" Captain Typho swore reverently. "Those are military maneuvers, but I've never seen them done like that…"

"Who are they?" Bail wondered out loud while he strained to see more clearly. "I can't make out any military markings."

"The local space port is hidden inside a butte not far south of here," one of Bail's guards offered. "They might have come from there."

"Looks like practice of some kind," Sabé judged. "Or a demonstration."

"That's some flying!" Captain Typho couldn't take his eyes off the planes.

Padmé didn't say anything at all. She stood silently, her face turned to the sky, rapt with attention.

After a while, Bail couldn't watch any longer. He sank down on a nearby rock, holding himself tightly, his eyes and mind full of the memories of a storm and fear and falling out of the sky and of the wild pilot like the ones in the sky above who had forfeited his life to save them. He didn't notice that Padmé had come to sit next to him until she spoke.

"Bail, what is it?"

"I can't stop thinking about the pilot who lost his life to save my ship, Padmé. It seems odd that I can't shake the guilt – so many die every day in the war – but it was such a personal sacrifice. I feel responsible."

Padmé looked up at the sky while the twin fighters screamed through the sky overhead, only to vanish into the distance again. "You aren't going to give me away, are you, Bail? You are already protecting my secret, even from my staff."

"I have always protected you, Padmé," Bail said mournfully, "and I always will."

Padmé took his hand reassuringly. "In that case, I have a story to tell you. I think it might ease your mind."

Bail looked up at her, and suddenly knew, without a doubt, that this was the last time he would speak with her in this way. The Viceroy of Alderaan and the Senator from Naboo might finish the Delegation's business on Esh-Col and say their goodbyes, but Bail and Padmé? _Never again like this, _something inside told him. Boldly Bail took both of Padmé's hands in his, and listened to her with all of his heart and soul while she explained how it was that no one had died the night of the storm, and why she was leaving her home, her work, and him behind.

He never had told her that he loved her, and he never would. _But then_, his grandmother murmured with unaccustomed gentleness, _perhaps she knows._


	28. Chapter 27 It's called Democracy

**Chapter 27. "It's called Democracy…"**

The rock-hewn subterranean hangar on Esh-Col was dim and cool on the hottest days. This midday it felt stifling. Heat still radiated from the flanks of two single-man starfighters that had rolled gently to a stop at its center. The sour tang of sweat and nerves pulsed from the hundred or more curious pilots who had squeezed themselves into the space surrounding the smoking one-man fighters. The atmosphere was thick with tension.

Anakin stood at the center of it all, looking, V'ar thought, absolutely in his element.

"It can't be done." The tall, craggy man who had taken V'ar to visit the _Tantive IV's _crash site – Bram, his name was – crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.

"You just saw it done," Anakin said easily.

"How long you been trainin' for that?"

"That's not the point." Anakin said reasonably. "The hardest part is knowing how to fly. You already know how to do that." He looked around at the edgy group. "Then you have to fly like there's no tomorrow. You do that, too. I know. I've watched you." The men and women around him shifted and muttered a little. One or two grinned.

"Mebbe there en't no tomorrow fer the likes of us," a voice called out from the back of the group. A few more shouted out their agreement.

"Maybe there is," Anakin shot back, "but you know by now that nobody is going to just hand it to you. If you want a future, you have to reach out and take it with both hands."

Just like the group that surrounded him, V'ar hung on Anakin's every word. Even though she knew so much more about him than these people did, every word that came out of his mouth was like one more piece of a maddening picture puzzle that never seemed to reveal its proper shape. She had done as he asked. She had flown with him, following his lead unquestioningly in every move, every turn, every breakneck dive. But she still had no better idea of where all this was leading than did the pilots of Esh-Col.

"The way we fly en't the same as what you just did." Bram's cool observation settled a silence over the group.

"There is only one piece left for you to learn: the maneuvers. The tactics. The timing. The discipline. The kind of pilots you are, I can teach you what you the basics in days. The rest you pick up from experience."

"Discipline," Bram growled, and spat demonstratively on the dusty hangar floor.

Anakin propped himself against one of the starfighters with his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed his arms, and grinned. "I know what you mean. I never have been much good at doing what other people tell me, either. But when it comes to protecting my own, I do whatever it takes. Just like you."

_Where is he going with this?_ V'ar wondered with very un-Jedi-like impatience.

The short, heavyset woman whom V'ar had identified days before as a squad leader stepped forward. Her crystalline, unaccented use of standard Basic set her apart from the others. "You said you could teach us to fight as well as our enemies, even better. You bet us that you could do it inside of a week. The deal was that in return, we would help you with something you needed. It's time you told us what that is." The woman gestured around the hangar. "We want the knowledge and skills that you are offering us, without a doubt. We need them. But we all have families who have no one else to look after them. Before we decide to go ahead, you have to be straight with us. What is the price?"

V'ar waited as eagerly as the others for the answer while Anakin looked down at his boots. A deep silence fell over the huge space. The starfighter that he was leaning against groaned a little as its engines cooled.

"Esh-Col isn't the only refugee colony that the neutral Corellians are supporting. In fact, it's one of the smaller ones," Anakin began quietly. Some of his audience shuffled at this, but no one said anything. Their eyes remained fixed on Anakin.

"Not more than a day's hard flying from here is a vast refugee city in space that no one outside of it knows about. It's not a planet. It doesn't appear on any maps." He looked up. "It's cloaked."

_Nowhere!_ V'ar realized. _He's telling them about Nowhere!_

The shuffling turned into muttering. "What're ya' talkin' about?" Bram said for them all. "We would have known about something like that…"

Anakin shook his head. "Believe me, it's very well hidden. I only found it with the help of a special branch of the Corellian Security Services. They let me see it."

"Why?" Bram demanded. "If it's so secret, why'd they let ya' see it?"

Anakin shrugged casually. "I have a friend in that service. He owed me a favor."

_He has a friend who would entrust him with something like that…_ V'ar soaked up that piece of information.

Bram shook his head. "That don't sound very secure."

Anakin crossed his arms. "That's exactly my point. No matter what precautions are taken, something like that will get out sooner or later. It can't stay hidden forever. There are roughly 30,000 people here on Esh-Col, is that right?"

There was a widespread murmur of assent.

"The place I'm talking about – the people who shelter there call it 'Nowhere' – provides sanctuary for at least half a million, and more are arriving daily." He paused to accommodate a general muttering of surprise. When the murmur had settled down he added, "Nearly half of those come from CIS territories," which made the group restive all over again. "You can see the problem," Anakin concluded. "Nowhere isn't safe from any side, and if they aren't safe, neither are you. If the Republic finds out about Nowhere, the Senate will use it as an excuse to force the Corellians out of their neutral stance and into the war on the Republican side. Nowhere and all other Corellian refugee colonies, including Esh-Col, would then fall under the Republic's jurisdiction." Anakin looked around. "How many of you are from CIS-held territories?"

After some reluctant shuffling, nearly a quarter of the pilots present in the hangar raised their fists.

"Trust me when I tell you that the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic is not as tolerant or generous as the Corellians."

Anakin paused again to let the bitter grumbling and sharp expletives die down before he pushed on yet again. "If the Separatist forces succeed in pushing the war further into the Galaxy toward the core, as they surely will, and if by some turn of fate Corellia were to become a territory of the CIS, it is unlikely that the fate of your colony and all the others would be any different than if it fell to the Republic."

"Told ya'!" someone in the back yelled out. "There is no tomorrow for us!"

It was Bram who finally stepped closer to Anakin and held up both arms to quiet the ensuing uproar. "Who are you?" he asked in a tone that gave V'ar an involuntary shiver. "We don't know you."

Silence dropped like an anvil onto an old stone floor. The hangar reverberated with it.

"I'm a pilot, like you," Anakin said easily, but his remark was not met with equal ease. The air was suddenly thick with a new kind of tension that only added to the stifling atmosphere. Va'r froze.

"Ya' have our respect for that. But ya' know a lot of things that make me wonder just how you know 'em. I ask you again. Who are you?"

_Straight and true, Anakin, _V'ar thought a little breathlessly. _They want you to be straight and true. Will you do it?_

For a long time Anakin only added to the silence. Then he said, "Are you sure you don't? My face was well-known in the Republic just recently."

"In case it has escaped y'ar notice, we don't get much in the way of news on this rock."

Anakin nodded gravely. After some more consideration, he said, with the same appearance of ease with which he'd spoken before, "until my recent fortunate death in the storm here on Esh-Col, I was the Personal Representative of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic."

"HUH?" It was a single violent expletive, a sound like a fist hitting a gut. Bram seemed to speak for all of his colleagues; the syllable had echoes all around the room. V'ar felt impact of Anakin's revelation on the pilots as though it had hit her own body. A few weapons were drawn. V'ar's hand moved reflexively to the hidden hilt of her lightsaber.

Bram, who seemed comfortable in the role of spokesman, recovered first and held up his hand. The weapons remained where they were. "Ya' prefer to be dead, then? Ya' certainly went to a considerable amount of trouble fer it."

"Oh, yes," Anakin said fervently. "I much prefer it. I'd like to stay dead. Alive, I'm a fugitive, and my family with me." He looked around. "I know the illusion of my death won't last long. I just needed some time… a little time…"

"Why?"

"To have a chance at a future," Anakin said simply, and V'ar's heart twisted in _He's scared, _she thought, _and it has nothing to do with the weapons in these people's hands._ It was disconcerting. She had seen Anakin as many things, but never as fearful.

"Nothin' stoppin' ya'." Bram gestured at the elevator on the far side of the hangar. "Y'ar still dead. Nobody here'll say otherwise. We're all runnin' from somethin'."

Anakin looked down. "I can't. I have one more thing to do. For that, I need your help."

V'ar's heart began to beat just a little bit faster.

"What kind of help?" the woman squad leader demanded suspiciously. All eyes were fixed on Anakin. He took a deep breath before he answered, V'ar noticed. It seemed that he wasn't as comfortable as he appeared.

"In order to remain safe, the people of Nowhere have to disperse, and they have to start out soon. Since the place has depended on secrecy for its security, it doesn't have much military protection. The Corellians provide some, but not enough, and they can't provide the kind of specialized support that's needed to run interference as ships begin to move out in groups."

"Fighter escorts," Bram said, almost longingly.

"Exactly." Anakin grinned wryly. "No one should leave home without one."

Bram looked around the hangar. "There's not enough of us to protect more'n a few. Ya' say there's hundreds of thousands. What good could we do?"

Anakin shrugged. "I teach you. You teach others. They teach the ones who come after them… and so on. None of this will happen in a day. But we have to begin now to give the greatest number of people the chance to make it." He stood up and walked around the stunned ring of pilots who were probably in the middle of the most confounding meeting of their lives. "There is no doubt in my mind that the war is closing in on the center of the Galaxy," Anakin insisted. "There isn't much time. This isn't just about me, or about the people of Nowhere. It's also about you. How long do you think you can stay here before it catches up with you, too?"

"Wait a minute!" the squad leader asked incredulously. "Where are they all going to go? We came here because there was no place else _to_ go! _This_ was supposed to be the safest place! Why else do you think we put up with the hardships?"

"That's what I'm telling you," Anakin said gently. "It's not going to be safe much longer. The Corellians are trying to find places for the people who are gathered in Nowhere to move elsewhere in the Republic. That might work for some, but not all. There is a lot of talk about trying to go… beyond."

_Beyond the borders of the Galaxy. _Like the others in the room, V'ar absorbed the idea in silence.

"Why do ya' wanna help Nowhere?" Bram asked stubbornly. "Like I said, ya' could just disappear on y'ar own."

"I made a promise," Anakin said simply.

No one commented. But that point, that precise point, became the One Point in the conversation between Anakin and the Pilots of Esh-Col. The Force in the hangar began to move in a different way. The atmosphere took on a new charge, as if all the ions had aligned. The weapons were lowered.

"If we came to Nowhere to help ya', we'd have to leave our families behind. They depend on us for supplies, for protection…" Bram's words faded away as he wrestled with the idea. When he spoke up again his normally laconic voice was razor-sharp. "Unless we all leave this place and throw our lots in with the people of Nowhere." He looked fiercely around the room. "If what he says is true, it bears thinkin' on."

V'ar cheered silently, and the analytical part of her mind began to work rapidly, jumping ahead to the preparation that would be required to bring the Esh-Col colonists to Nowhere. Flow charts, timetables, and lists of supplies and materiel flashed through her mind.

"It's true," Anakin said. "Every word I've said to you is true."

V'ar began discretely to glance around the hangar, calculating the numbers, capacity and tonnage of the ships there.

"After you keep your promise to help Nowhere, what then?" Bram asked.

More fighters and weapons would be needed immediately. Bel Iblis would have to be contacted, and Obi-Wan, of course. V'ar couldn't wait to tell Obi-Wan the news… _I was right! Anakin will return to Nowhere, and he's bringing help…_

Anakin smiled. "My fate will be the same as yours. Like you, after I pass on what I know, I will simply… disappear."

V'ar's rapid thought process ceased suddenly in the face of cold hard shock. Until this point, everything Anakin had said and done had made sense to her, had added pieces to the puzzle she had been working on for a long time. She successfully had mastered all of the surges of surprise and satisfaction and vindication and even exultation that the day's events had stirred up, but the feeling of crushing hopelessness slammed her so hard it left her breathless.

_He plans to leave us all behind to the darkness,_ her heart cried out. Anakin would take Amidala and her light, and he would disappear, leaving the Galaxy behind.

It had never before struck V'ar with such clarity just how much she always had believed – truly, deeply believed – in the prophecy of the Chosen One who would bring balance to the Force. She hadn't realized until that moment how much her unwavering confidence in the future, and in the ultimate victory of light over the spreading darkness, had rested on that single article of faith. And somehow, steadfastly, she always had believed that Anakin was that Chosen One. After all, if not he, then who? There was no other like him, and the darkness was already upon them.

And now… and now…

Without Anakin, who would be left to banish the suffocating darkness? Without a Chosen One, what hope was there for the Galaxy? She glared at him from across the hangar with burning eyes, and for the first time since their white-hot landing he turned to look at her, as though he had sensed her emotions.

_How could you? _V'ar howled silently.

Anakin looked away.

x

Obi-Wan leaned on the railing high above the City Center's atrium studying the freeform, random, often boisterous activity taking place far below. He wondered, not for the first time, why unfettered activity always tended to be chaotic. The universe had its order and its structure; every facet, every portion of nature followed its own pattern and obeyed inviolable invisible laws. And yet when equally beautifully formed and structured sentient beings of all kinds came together, they invariably seemed to create pandemonium of one sort or another.

And noise. Lots of noise.

Why did conversation grow louder, the larger the space in which it took place? Why did extremes of emotion – laughter, or angry words – invariably turn up the volume on communication? Why did children invariably shriek when they ran? The energies released by the myriad social activities below swirled through the wide-open space like crazed sparks from a campfire. Alone by his railing far, far above, searching the crowd for the two people who had left him waiting once again, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and went inward just for the moment, wishing he could muster a little wild energy of his own. It might help him to stay on his feet.

All he found was a weak fizzle.

Weariness had wrapped itself around Obi-Wan like a new skin. Its weight never left him, and meditation never lightened the load because even in Nowhere the Force seemed to have taken on a new density, a weight that he associated with the atmosphere on Coruscant. When he had arrived in the refugee city it had felt light and buoyant. Now he felt a sense of foreboding and urgency.

Something was coming. It would not be long now. And there was so much to do.

Obi-Wan scanned the space impatiently again for his overdue colleagues. On one side of the atrium below raucous laughter and applause greeted a makeshift entertainment of some kind, while on the other, an informal ball game grew fiercer and tenser and more competitive by the second. All those people... working, playing, living... He looked down at the clumsy new weapon in his calloused hand: the ever-present, hated datapad with the lists of tasks and figures that practically shouted, '_It can't be done! By the best of will, it can't be done!'_

No lightsaber, however elegant, could help him in the battle against time and fear and uncertainty. There was no single-point defense against confusion and chaos. The prerequisites for decisive action were, at very least, focused purpose and the capacity to act. In a combat situation, lone Jedi acting purposefully could successfully stand against many. As a military commander it was a straightforward matter to bring one's resources to bear on a goal. But trying to bring a vast, diverse group of free individuals with conflicting needs and agendas together toward a single point of action… what could a single Jedi do under those circumstances?

Ahh, there. The two team members he relied upon the most, Bel Iblis and Mon Mothma, were on their way at last. It was about time.

He glared balefully down where the two Senators wended their way through the multitudes below. Potentially suitable destinations had been found in the far reaches of the Republic that could accommodate nearly 50,000 refugees who met certain criteria. Obi-Wan had managed to get the right ones identified and notified of the opportunity, but he was having trouble persuading them to move on.

Nothing in Obi-Wan's training or experience had prepared him for the constant, hard slog of having to negotiate for everything he felt was needed; of having to persuade independent-minded groups and factions who had little enough in common with one another of the wisdom of his proposals. That was a job for a politician – the very opposite of everything Obi-Wan was, or had ever wanted to be – and yet here he was, floundering and practically shouting to be heard.

The refugees were suspicious. Frightened. Stubborn. They clung to the familiar. Nowhere gave them a sense of community and safety that they were loathe to give up. Many hesitated. Some refused outright to leave.

But they had to go. There wasn't much time left. The heaviness in the Force and the flashes of visions that regularly rent his meditations told him this. He badly needed Bel Iblis and Mon Mothma to bring their talents for persuasion and negotiation to bear on the problem.

The lift at the far end of the catwalk opened and Obi-Wan's relief at his colleagues' arrival turned to sharp unease. Something was wrong. Quickly he centered himself, becoming a well of calm amid the tumultuous energies that that rose from below and the wave of anxiety that flowed toward him along the catwalk.

"What is it?" he asked quietly when Mon Mothma reached his side.

"I have to return to Coruscant." Mon's gray eyes were shadowed in the dim light. "I have been … summoned."

"By the Supreme Chancellor?" Obi-Wan asked sharply.

"Yes. His office contacted mine directly. He is calling another emergency session of the full Senate about the war tomorrow evening. Even if I leave right away I'll barely make it on time, but I can't afford to miss it. I daresay questions will be asked about my absence as it is."

Beside her, Garm Bel Iblis gave vent to a vicious expletive that wasn't surprising, since it had been preceded by a spike of fear. "I received no such summons."

"You're meant to be traveling around with the Refugee Outreach Alliance, remember?" the young woman reminded him with a calm that belied her nervousness. "What happened to that group, anyway? It's hard to keep up with the holonet transmissions here."

"They're still on Esh-Col, I imagine," Bel Iblis said indifferently. "Damn poor place for holonet transmissions. I doubt they're making any at all. Anyway, I had it announced publicly a few days ago that I was returning to Corellia on Parliamentary business, so it's known that I'm available. I wonder why I didn't receive the same summons as you?"

"These sessions tend to be held to announce actions that have already been taken rather than for debate," Obi-Wan observed, and then fell silent while he paid close attention to a noticeable surge in the Force. _It is beginning,_ he thought. _So soon._ He sensed Senator Mothma studying him and realized that he was frowning, and wished that he hadn't allowed his uneasiness to reflect in his expression.

"Palpatine is up to something," Mon Mothma agreed. "I fear the war will escalate, if it hasn't already."

_It has already._ Obi-Wan held the thought in silence.

Apparently impatient with the long silences, Bel Iblis turned to his young colleague and continued the conversation as though Obi-Wan weren't there. "What excuse will you give for your absence from the Senate this week?"

"Oh, I made up the usual story about meetings back home, just as you did. I left a trail of sorts on Chandrila. Like any of these cover stories, it will only hold up if it isn't to closely scrutinized. I was going to stop back home on the way back to Coruscant to strengthen the trail, but now I can't." She hesitated. "What will you do, Garm? Will you attend the session?"

"I don't know." Bel Iblis was sweating. He seemed on the verge of panic. "I don't know what to do. Why wasn't I summoned?" he worried out loud again, looking at Obi-Wan beseechingly, as though he knew the answer.

He didn't.

"Mon must go of course, to safeguard her position," Obi-Wan agreed. "But I cannot advise you, Garm. You must do what you think is best."

Raucous cheering broke out in the Atrium below. The game must have ended. Obi-Wan, Mon, and Bel Iblis turned as one to stare silently down at the surging crowd.

"Look at them all," Bel Iblis growled. "They have entrusted their lives to us."

How typical that was of the man, Obi-Wan thought. He was afraid. He had been afraid for a long time. Yet despite his palpable, unremitting terror, he never lost his willingness to stick his neck out for the refugees' cause. It was because of Bel Iblis's hard work and hard-nosed negotiations that the supply lines kept flowing and Nowhere's meager-enough security systems remained in place. Sometimes it seemed that Bel Iblis' gift for bullying, along with his willingness to use it, was the single fragile support that kept the whole vast construct in place. Who needed charm, after all? It was effectiveness that kept people alive…

"If you don't believe you are required to go, Bel Iblis, I could use your help here," Obi-Wan admitted reluctantly.

The Force around Bel Iblis shifted and warmed. He was pleased. He hid it, of course. "Damn straight you could. And what about that pup of Palpatine's you're protecting? I don't see him anywhere around here. I thought you said he was coming back?"

It occurred to Obi-Wan that this spot by the railing, high above the atrium, the place he returned to again and again when he needed to think, was the exact spot where Anakin had made his promise to return to Nowhere. _Let him keep his promise,_ he begged fervently into the Force. _Let him keep it. _"Anakin promised that he will return," he said calmly to Bel Iblis. I expect that he will."

"He'd better do it soon, if he's going to do it at all. We have work to do."

"You're staying, then?" Obi-Wan felt a rush of relief and gratitude. He hid it, of course.

"Yes." Bel Iblis turned to their quiet, thoughtful colleague. "You'd better go, Mon. But damn, woman, you'll be missed!"

_You don't know how much,_ Obi-Wan thought. Mon Mothma was an altogether different kind of politician than Bel Iblis. She had vision, much more so than the practical and goal-oriented Corellian, and even more, she had the gift of persuasion. She could walk into a room full of quarreling individuals whom Obi-Wan wished he could finally round up at the point of a lightsaber to make them listen, and walk out of it again with a common goal and a timetable. Obi-Wan had made his mark over and over again as a negotiator for peace in conflict situations; but he stood in awe of the young Senator's ability to inspire free people to join together for a single common cause.

Mon pulled her gaze away from the scene below. "Yes. You're right." Quickly she slipped between the two men and linked her arms with theirs, startling both of them. "Remember this, both of you. These are free people. They are here because they want to stay that way. They won't respond well to edicts or orders. Let them choose their own leaders, and then work with the people they have chosen to lead them." She squeezed their arms. "I'll be back if I can. If not…" she let go and pulled out a datapad of her own, which she handed to Obi-Wan. "Most of the sectors have already been organized into small task groups. Here are the details and the names of those responsible for each one. Give them the direction and the resources, and they will do the rest." She smiled into Obi-Wan's open astonishment. "All we need to do is to give them a start. They'll carry the organization and its ideals out into the Galaxy with them."

"Well, I'll be…" Bel Iblis muttered.

"It's called Democracy. It's what we're fighting for." Mon backed away and raised her hand in farewell before hurrying back down the catwalk back to the lift.

"May the Force be with you," Obi-Wan whispered, although it was unlikely that she could hear.

He decided there and then that, when all of this was over, he might take the time to re-think his position on politicians in general.


	29. Chapter 28 And Who Will Light Our Way?

**Chapter 28. And Who Will Light Our Way?**

Esh-Col had no moon.

Despite the substantial population that nestled in the small planet's mid-plain settlements, the nights on Esh-Col were as dark as any V'ar had experienced in wilder places. Even the tiny lights that winked through doors and windows in the evening quickly blinked out when the inhabitants shuttered them tightly against the night winds and the blackness outside.

Wearily she climbed her way up the last few meters of uncertain hand and foot-holds to the open cave on the plateau near the hidden hangar. Her cave – that was way she thought of it now. No one but Anakin had ever disturbed her there. Her days with Anakin and the pilots of Esh-Col were so long that, despite the arduous climb in the inky dark, she found it more convenient to spend her nights on the plateau near the sky than to return to the settlement.

It was a good thing she didn't need her eyes to see where she was going.

With a last burst of energy she reached the top and rummaged in the thermal shelter she had erected at the back of the rocky overhang for rations. The thin tent provided shelter from the ever-present gusty winds and it was comfortable enough to think of as home. For the time being, anyway. It wouldn't be long now before she would move on with a flotilla of rag-tag refugee vessels, heading out into unknown space on nothing more than a promise.

Anakin's promise.

Her meager evening meal in hand, V'ar settled herself by the edge of the cave where the pale starlight outlined the shapes of the rocks nearby. Her vista over the plains had vanished. The Esh-Col night swallowed up its own.

It was quiet, too. Whatever nocturnal creatures there might have been on this desolate little planet didn't make any noise. Unless the wind whipped into sudden gusts the silence was huge – almost like a weight on the auditory nerves. Even for a Jedi accustomed to stillness it had taken some getting used to. Tonight the winds were becalmed and it was especially silent, so the sudden faint whine of a lone engine far below brought all V'ar's focused senses onto instant alert.

She settled back again. It was Anakin, heading home. He was traveling without a light, and from the sound of it, he was pushing the speeder to its limit. He would be the only one heading back to the settlement; the exhausted pilots had taken to making camp in the hangar next to the ships that, for the time being, had taken the place of their families. Their rough tutelage in flying the way nobody ought to be able to fly had left no time or energy for traveling back and forth to the settlement.

Anakin, though, went back to Amidala every night.

V'ar suspected she was the only one who knew that Amidala was planning to vanish from the Galaxy at Anakin's side. Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo – nemesis of the Trade Federation, lead figure in the Loyalist Committee, champion of democracy, tireless worker on behalf of the oppressed – was about to leave all of those roles, all of those _responsibilities_ behind to sink into the obscurity of refugee life.

V'ar had pieced the initial part of their scheme together bit by bit after Anakin had announced his intention to disappear. They were clever, those two. While Anakin worked like a demon to get the pilots ready for their new role, Amidala had agreed to take on the brunt of the administrative wrap-up of the Outreach Alliance Delegation's visit, freeing up the bored and restless Delegates one by one to leave Esh-Col and to hasten back to Coruscant, the Holonet, and the civilized realms. Only Bail Organa's group remained behind, since their ship had been lost and transport had yet to be arranged.

V'ar had noticed that arranging for that transport was takinga long time.

With most of the delegates gone, Amidala had then begun to distribute Outreach Alliance resources among the settlers who had decided amongst themselves to try their luck on Nowhere and beyond. A surprising number had joined in; all of the pilots and their families, and even a good number of others who no longer trusted the Sitters and their Corellian minders to take care of their needs. It seemed that in the face of chaos – universal war certainly broke down the last vestiges of law, sovereignty and security – people found ways to govern themselves. Despite the administrative structures set up by the Corellians, it was the guild of pilots that laid down the law. When the pilots had agreed to go with Anakin, most of the population had agreed to follow.

By the time V'ar finished her meal, the distant sound of Anakin's speeder had long since been swallowed up by the the night. She stood up to stretch, troubled by the image of Anakin disappearing into Esh-Col's dark horizon. He might think he was alone on that speeder, setting his own course. But he already had a small army of people ready to follow him whatever he decided to do. Wherever he went, the world around Anakin seemed to bend according to his desires; sooner or later he drew everything and everyone around him into his sphere. Didn't he know that? What made him think he could just disappear?

_I'm included in that, _V'ar thought with unerring honesty as she curled up in her shelter to sleep. _I, too, am caught up in his aura, his and Amidala's. I couldn't leave them now if I tried…_

_x_

Suddenly Padmé was wide awake in her empty bed.

She didn't know what had woken her. Was it a dream? She felt her way backwards into the dark realms of sleep, but couldn't remember what she might have dreamt.

Was it a noise? She held her breath and listened into the surrounding darkness, but the silence was profound. There was no nighttime traffic in the settlement. No one was out on the streets. The winds were still. She could hear her heart beating loudly in her ears.

Had there been some movement, then? Her room and those beyond seemed frozen in time. Even the flutters in her belly were at rest.

Padmé slipped out of bed and wrapped herself in the rough, heavy shawl that covered it. By memory, not needing a light, she picked her way out of her room, down a short, low-ceilinged hallway and into the small enclosed courtyard of the house that she and her staff had occupied since arriving on the refugee colony. It was a bit brighter under the open night sky, but only a little.

In the moonless night the starlight was as faint as the mere memory of light.

The courtyard was empty; the doors that faced it, closed. She could see that much. Padmé was alone under the sky, her bare feet cool on the paving stones, with her heart pounding for no reason that she could discern.

She closed her eyes, swaying a little, and breathed. _Listen… listen… listen…_

There was no sound to be heard. But when she opened her eyes again to the faint wash of light, Padmé knew that the moment she had been waiting for since she had said goodbye to Anakin on Coruscant – before that, even; long before – had come.

Her heartbeat seemed to slow; the moment of realization stretched out until it seemed to go on forever.

"Anakin?" she breathed; a whisper so soft that it was all but inaudible.

But he heard.

He moved toward her out of the shadows, tall and solid in his dark cloak, where the instant before there had been no one.

"Here." His whisper was as low as hers, but it reverberated all the way through her body. She opened her mouth to speak only to have him grasp her arm gently. He smelled of sweat and dust; of the world outside. She caught a whiff of engine oil and the acrid tang of fuel.

"Shhh."

The doors onto the courtyard may have been closed, but one didn't know who or what lurked behind them. She allowed herself to be pulled gently back into the house, through the hallway and into her blacked-out bedroom. He pushed her gently down on to the bed, knelt in front of her, and took her two hands in his.

It was too dark to see his face.

"It's time for us to go, isn't it?" she asked forlornly.

She hadn't known how desolate she would feel. She hadn't known.

"Yes. It is all arranged."

Padmé slumped. This was what she had been waiting for. This was what she had made up her mind to do. Then why did she feel the life slipping out of her body? Why, despite the heavy shawl, was she suddenly cold?

"How long?" She whispered.

"It's up to you, really. As soon as you can get your people organized and off the planet."

Her people.

The people whom she loved.

The people whom she relied on for everything; the people who had become her family.

_My family. _Padmé began to tremble uncontrollably. Anakin moved closer, encircling her until her nose was pressed against his scratchy cloak.

"Are you all right?" He sounded worried. "What's wrong?"

He didn't know. He couldn't know, she supposed – not really. He had no one to leave behind. He was bringing his only family with him.

_I am his family. I and our child._

"I'm all right," she mumbled into his cloak. "I'm all right." The trembling made her a liar. She knew it, and so did he.

"Are you… still willing to go, Padmé?" His voice grated on her heart. It sounded broken.

He shouldn't have to sound that way. Not ever. That was why they were going… to keep him whole.

She found her hands, found his body, and pulled him to her. Wrapped him up. Held him. Kept him close. He must not break. If he broke…

Images flashed: her life on Coruscant. The Senate. Her work. Her staff. The apartment that was meant to be her home. She saw herself there without him; empty. Hollow. Raising a child alone. Or… Anakin there too, at Palpatine's beck and call. Distant. Hard. Bowed down. Forever pulling against an invisible leash…

_No._ She hugged him harder, using all her strength.

She flashed back further to Naboo. Her family. Surrounded by love, but empty without him. She would wither. It would not be enough. She was no longer theirs; she was no longer a separate being. He was inside her skin. He filled her. He… and his child.

_He is my family.._

"Of course I want to go," she whispered, breathless with the fierceness of her hug. "I just need a moment…" A moment to reconcile herself to the future. A moment to let go of the past. A single moment to change her life forever.

She needed an eternal moment, one that would go on forever; but this whisper, this hug in the dark, cool room was all the time she would have.

_He_ was all she had, now.

"Thank you," the Anakin of Esh-Col – the one who once again dared to dream – sighed into her hair. "Thank you."

_I won't let him break…_

x

Feeling a little chilled from her long vigil by the slatted window across the courtyard from Padmé's room, Dormé finally slipped back into her bed, only to find that it too had cooled off on her absence. She curled up in a ball, trying to warm herself.

"What is it?" Sabé's voice whispered from the other bed.

"You're awake?"

"I can't sleep. Did you see anything?"

"She was outside for a while. I guess she can't sleep, either. Then _he_ showed up, quiet as a shadow. I couldn't hear a thing." Dormé pulled the covers around her more tightly. "They went back inside."

Sabé moved restlessly. "I've been lying here trying to figure out why she has insisted on staying in this desolate place until the very last. The other Delegation members are long gone. Any work that's left to be done could be finished en route."

Dormé yawned. "I thought she is waiting until Bail's transport arrives, so we can leave together?"

"Yes, but why? Why couldn't we leave separately, as the others did? This junket is pretty well over. It was agreed a week ago that Esh-Col would be the last stop."

There was a long silence.

"And have you noticed that the local market seems to be shutting down?" Sabé went on. "I went to buy food yesterday and there were only a few stalls left."

Dormé sat up in bed and hugged her knees. "When is Captain Typho getting back?"

"The last supply ship was supposed to get in yesterday, but it's late again. That's the second time. The last one that was late was flown in by Corellian security. The local pilots are nowhere to be found." She paused for consideration. "Good thing the weather has held."

"You know what bothers me the most?" Dormé burst out. "She didn't even notice that Typho sneaked off to Talus with the last supply ship. He's been gone three days and she hasn't once asked about him."

"I know. She believed our story that he was helping the Alderaan Delegation with their new transport. She spends all of her time with the local community groups. It's as though she has forgotten about the rest of the Galaxy. You know, I think she doesn't even miss knowing what is going on in the Senate!"

"Well, I do," Dormé said firmly. "I can't wait until the Captain gets back with the war news. I hope the transport arrives tomorrow, with him on it. In fact, I can't wait to leave this place. We have been here too long as it is. It will be very difficult for her to justify this long absence from her duties."

There was another thoughtful silence before Sabé said decidedly, "Something is going on. Something that doesn't involve us. And I'm going to find out what it is first thing in the morning."

"Sabé?"

"What?"

"I've never seen her like this. So… distant. It feels like… like we're losing her."

"Don't worry." Sabé's rustic bed creaked a little as she turned and settled into it. "She won't get away from me."

Somewhat comforted, Dormé snuggled down into her own pillows, wondering what news Captain Typho would bring from the Galaxy beyond.

x

"Listen to that!" The pilot of the Corellian cargo ship said suddenly into what had been a long, boring silence. "A distress call!"

His sleepy co-pilot woke up instantly at the welcome diversion from the routine. "I haven't heard one of those for ages! Is that for real?"

Captain Typho, too, snapped out of his reverie and heaved himself out of the rumble seat at the back of the freighter's bridge to look over the pilot's shoulder. In the long hours of the routine journey to Talus and back he had become quite friendly with his hosts. He figured they wouldn't mind the intrusion.

"It looks real," he commented after studying the signal's cycle for a moment. "Standard bandwidth. Regulation message."

"The signal isn't very strong, though." The pilot fiddled with the controls. "It's a matter of luck that we even caught it. I wonder how long they've been out there?"

"Are you planning to check it out?" The co-pilot asked dubiously. "We're a day and half behind schedule as it is."

"We don't have much choice, do we? It's a distress call." The pilot began to readjust the nav. controls.

Typho bit back a surge of acute impatience. He was desperate to get back to Esh-Col with his news. "Try hailing them," he suggested, although it wasn't his place. Hitchhikers didn't generally have much say over their rides. But another delay was the last thing he needed.

The pilot didn't take it too badly. "Hailing," he said calmly. All three men leaned forward eagerly to listen for a reply.

"Hey there!" A cheerful voice crackled back at them. "Glad you could stop by! Got a little problem with the Nav. system…"

"Doesn't sound too distressed, does he?" the co-pilot commented.

Typho's jaw tightened. "Can't you note their position and send for help?"

"It's a distress call," the pilot said implacably. "We're duty-bound to respond. Regulations." He adjusted the comm. controls once more to improve the signal. "Distressed ship, give us your details."

_Turdshine! _Typho just managed not to say it out loud.

"Personnel transport _Tomlin _out of Esh-Col. Destination Talus. Eight passengers. Nav. computer conked out a few days back… been kinda flyin' around in circles ever since…"

Typho's jaw unclenched. He perked up. Esh-Col? Eight passengers?

The pilot leaned back in his seat. "Hold fast, _Tomlin_. We're coming to you." He switched off the comm. and looked over at his co-pilot. "You're right. He doesn't sound too distressed."

"Would you like me to go over and check it out? Typho offered. "It's not as though I'm doing anything else. At least I could make myself useful."

"The pilot shrugged. "Why not?"

A short time later Typho eased the Corellian ship's shuttle alongside the distressed transport and was helped aboard by two men who would have looked very much at home among the refugees of Esh-Col. They introduced themselves as the pilots. That was as he had expected. What he didn't expect was the gaggle of worn-out looking people who crowded the small hatch bay behind the pilots – fashionably dressed urbanites, their faces pinched with distress. They began to clutch at Typho as though he was some kind of savior. He knew them. He knew every one of them.

They werethe holonet crew that had accompanied the Outreach Alliance delegation all the way to Esh-Col.

It had been Skywalker who had arranged to ship them back to Talus. And they had been out here, adrift, ever since?

"Everybody all right?" Typho demanded gruffly. "Do you have enough provisions?" Their planned journey had been a short one. They must be starving…

"No problem there," the shorter of the _Tomlin's _pilot assured him laconically. Plenty of food and water aboard. "These folks are just pretty anxious to get back home. Seems they're all really busy and important."

Was that the ghost of a grin on the man's leathery face? There was nothing to be read in his pale, pale eyes.

"Can you help us?" The anxious director of the holonet crew asked, desperation in his voice. "We're more than a week late getting back to headquarters. These men don't seem to understand that we're in a hurry…"

The Esh-Col pilot shrugged. "Can't do much if the Nav. system is out, can I? Don't want ter fly ya' into a rock or end up in the Outer Rim…"

Typho cut him off. "Let me have a look at the problem. If we can't help you, we'll provide you with transport ourselves." _Flaming turdshine!_ That would mean taking them all the way back to Talus; there wasn't a suitable drop-off point anywhere in between. Grimly he reviewed everything he had ever learned about Nav. systems. There had to be a way of getting their ship moving again…

Typho was shown to the bridge, which was littered with the remains of several meals and the evidence that the Esh-Col pilots had spent a lot of time playing Sabaac. They stood peacefully by, arms crossed, while Typho familiarized himself with their systems and tested them for problems. They answered all of his questions with good humor, and when it turned out that the problem was a relatively minor one, easily solved using a couple of spare parts from the Corellian cargo ship (odd that the Tomlin hadn't had the regulation spares aboard) and by re-loading the standard Nav. programs, they didn't seem embarrassed at all.

Typho was too angry to be relieved.

There was no doubt in his mind – none at all – that the Esh-Col pilots had deliberately delayed their passengers' journey. They had been flying around in circles, all right. But they had known exactly what they were doing. There was also no doubt in his mind who had instigated this little jaunt of theirs.

Skywalker. The man who dominated Senator Amidala's life and more and more, it seemed, her decisions.

Captain Typho ignored the sly glances that passed between the Esh-Col pilots, brushed off the almost tearful thanks of their passengers, and made haste back to the Corellian cargo ship to make his report.

"It seems everybody's late," he growled. "We'd better get going."

x

Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Dormé checked her chrono again.

Good. Almost morning.

Mindful of Sabé sleeping peacefully nearby, she crept out of bed and dressed quickly in local clothing, wrapping her head and shoulders in a heavy rough shawl. She slipped out of the house and headed toward the marketplace where she thought a few intrepid stallholders might already be setting out their meager wares, even though the sun had barely begun to show itself.

If there was any news to be had on Esh-Col, it could be learned in the marketplace.

"You're up early!" A woman smiled at Dormé as she wandered by, looking at the scanty provisions on the woman's stall.

"I couldn't sleep," Dormé admitted, surveying the few vegetables and fruits that had seen better days.

"Transport is due today," the woman said. "If you can wait that long. We've been promised fresh produce."

"It is? Today? How do you know for sure? I'm waiting for someone…" She glanced up to see the woman studying her sympathetically.

"Word passes, dearie. You haven't been here long, have you?"

"No," Dormé admitted. "When… when do you think it will arrive?"

"Hey, Sol," the woman called to a man in the next stall. "When're the loaders leaving for the spaceport?"

Her neighbor emerged from the crate he'd been half-buried in, pulling out of it a pile of folded cloth. "Should be heading out shortly. Dorri ran by here not five minutes ago. He's one of the drivers."

Dormé plucked up her courage. "Is there any way … do you suppose I could catch a ride to the spaceport? I'd really like to meet the transport." She smiled wanly. "If I wouldn't be in the way."

The woman grinned. "Someone special, eh? Well, dearie, here's what you do. Run down there to the bottom of that road – just past the meeting house, see? Down there you'll see a convoy of loaders. Just tell them you want to go along to the spaceport. It won't be a problem!"

"Thank you," Dormé said sincerely. Just before she turned to go, the market woman tossed her a piece of fruit from the stand, which Dormé caught neatly.

"Take that with you, dearie!" The woman called out, with the unerring generosity of those who have nothing. "You look hungry!"

Waving her thanks, Dormé sprinted down the dusty thoroughfare. The colonists' generosity didn't stop at the market, and soon Dormé found herself perched on the back of a huge cargo carrier, wrapped up against the wind and dust in her rough shawl, on her way to the spaceport in the convoy of vehicles that would transport the fresh supplies back to the town.

x

Dormé was nearly the first person Captain Typho saw upon emerging from the huge Corellian cargo ship. She looked just like all the other refugee women who waited in the small crowd at the foot of the ship's gangplank. He might not have recognized her at all if she hadn't waved and called out to him.

"I'm so glad you're back!" she burst out. Typho tried to smile, but he just couldn't. Not even for her.

"Did the Senator ask about my whereabouts?" he asked immediately.

Dormé's face sobered. "She didn't notice you were gone. In fact, as far as I can tell, she still hasn't begun preparations to leave."

"She needs to return to Coruscant." Typho said grimly. "As soon as possible."

Dormé took his arm so she could lower her voice. "What's the news?"

Typho looked around at the crowds in the busy spaceport and drew Dormé into a relatively quiet corner.

"The Supreme Chancellor held a special session of the Senate yesterday. All the Senators were summoned to it personally a few days prior, to give them time to travel."

"Padmé?" Dormé asked anxiously.

"I spoke to Dellia. Padmé received the summons. All the other members of the Outreach Alliance who left earlier made it to the session. Senator Amidala, Senator Organa and senator Bel Iblis are the only ones who didn't show up for roll call."

"There isn't any way she could have received the summons on Esh-Col!"

"Do you think Palpatine cares?" Typho looked around the hangar for any possibility of immediate transport back to the settlement. "She has to go back. Now." His eye fell on a familiar figure on the far side of the Cargo transport that was being rapidly emptied by teams of people along with a few loader droids.

_Skywalker._ He stared, and suddenly Skywalker looked up and stared straight back at him across the wide space. Typho made up his mind and abruptly began to walk towards him.

"Wait! What was the session about?" Dormé held his arm, stopping him.

"The war." Typho was still staring at Skywalker. "The Outer Rim sieges have failed. The war is coming our way – a massive Separatist incursion seems to be heading straight for Corellian space. The Colonies are falling one by one." He looked down into Dormé's stricken face and added gently, "I'm going to find transport. I'll be right back."

Gently he removed Dormé's hand and walked rapidly toward Skywalker, who was now talking animatedly with several people who looked like pilots. Again, Skywalker looked up to acknowledge him just as he approached.

"Captain Typho."

Typho debated fiercely with himself for a moment, then held his tongue. What he had to say was best said in private. There was no telling just where Skywalker stood with the colonists, the pilots… or with Senator Amidala.

"I'm looking for transport back to the settlement. I need a speeder."

Skywalker studied him for a long moment. Typho glared back. He didn't care what this former _Jedi_ could gather about what he was thinking and feeling. In fact, he hoped the man picked up the brunt of it.

Finally Skywalker turned to the man standing next to him and said, as though it was his decision alone, "Give him a speeder, Bram."

"Ok, Boss."

_Boss? _Typho seethed. But he accepted the proffered speeder, hoisted Dormé onto it, and headed back to the settlement with the throttle wide open.

x

"What do you mean; you're not going back to Coruscant with the rest of us? Where exactly do you think you're going?" Sabé's voice was tight and dangerous. It was a tone Padmé rarely ever heard her use, and it had never been turned against herself.

This was the conversation that Padmé had dreaded: the one in which she would be asked to explain something that was essentially inexplicable.How could one translate the language of the heart into words the mind could grasp? How could she make Sabé and Dormé and her family and everyone she loved understand that she had to go with Anakin, that it wasn't possible for her to make any other choice, but that she didn't love them less for leaving them? How could she justify, pregnant and vulnerable as she was, leaving her home, her duty and her friends for the dangers of the unknown?

She had spent too much precious time crying in the past. At last she was dry-eyed, because the enormity of her choice filled her up inside, leaving room for nothing else, not even tears. It formed a tight, hot bubble inside her that made it possible to keep her chin up and her back straight in the face of Sabé's fury.

"Sit down, please, Sabé. I'll explain everything."

"I will not sit down!" Sabé hissed, circling her like a predator. Underneath, the words sounded more like "_I will not do as you ask." _

Padmé took a breath.

"Fine. Then stand. But you must listen to me, Sabé. Do you hear me? You must listen."

White-faced, her fists clenched, Sabé stopped her circling and stood before Padmé in obdurate silence.

"I need you to return to Coruscant with the Delegation as me, accompanied by all my staff. You must all arrive in deepest mourning. Upon your arrival you will publicly announce Anakin's death. You can go into seclusion after that; no one would expect me to do otherwise. Bail and his staff will travel with you, and will back up your story. Bail is the only one who knows the truth, and he will never betray me."

"Viceroy Organa knew about this before I did?" Sabé snarled.

Padmé let the accusation pass. "Most important of all is that the Supreme Chancellor believes the ruse for as long as possible. Anakin says that Palpatine won't believe that he is dead – that he will investigate. The longer that investigation takes, the more time we have to… "Padmé tried to swallow, but couldn't dislodge the lump in her throat "… to disappear."

"Where to?" Sabé hissed.

"I don't know," Padmé conceded heavily. "Far away. As far away as we can get."

Sabé kept the rigid silence going for longer than Padmé thought possible. Then she said, quite matter-of-factly, "You weren't always insane. Until _he _walked into your life and took over you made more sense than anyone I knew." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What has he done to you?"

A column of heat rose up through Padmé, as if the floor beneath her feet suddenly had begun to glow with it; she felt it rise through her legs, up her spine, and into her flaming cheeks.

"He means everything to me!"

"So I see." The look on Sabé's face was unreadable. It was like looking at the face of a stranger.

"Sabé, please…" Padmé implored.

"Because of Anakin you're willing to let down everyone else; your family, your friends, your planet, the Galaxy…"

"I let him down for all those things on Naboo, Sabé, and look what happened! All of that could have been prevented if I had just listened to him. I won't make that mistake again!"

"And so you are willing to just throw your life away, and your child's life with you?"

"I'm doing this to save Anakin's life. And with it mine, and our child's. "

"Let him save his own life," Sabé spat bitterly. "Why must he take yours with it?"

Padmé's eyes burned. She could barely breathe. "He _is _my life…"

"Ah!" The syllable tore out of Sabé as she turned away from Padmé and buried her face in her hands. Although her shoulders were heaving, Padmé did not hear or sense tears. She sensed rage, a wild whorl of it that consumed the air between them. In the face of it Padmé felt herself grow calmer. She understood about helpless rage…

…_Anakin must not break… _

… but she didn't accept the idea of helplessness. The heat in her body subsided, leaving her head clearer and her heart calmer.

"Palpatine never would have agreed to keep me alive without Anakin's intervention, Sabé. He wanted me dead. I think he still does. My life has been hanging on a thread ever since. It is Anakin he wants, and he will do anything to get him. Without Anakin, I don't have a chance."

"Why?" Sabé whirled around. Padmé had been right. Her face bore no trace of tears. "Why does he want Anakin so badly?"

It was the eternal question that had been bothering Padmé since the events on Naboo. Why was Anakin so important to Palpatine? It had to do with his Jedi powers, of course – powers that Padmé thought she would never fully understand. Every time she believed she knew what he was capable of, he turned her comprehension upside down again, as he had with his uncanny rescue of the _Tantive IV. _

"I don't honestly know. Not entirely. I suspect it has a lot to do with the Jedi Order – I believe that Palpatine intends to destroy it, and that somehow he needs Anakin for that."

"The Jedi!" Sabé snapped. "They're little better than Palpatine. They handed you over to the army on Naboo. They're evidently spying on you through your empty-headed little secretary. And then this V'ar person attached herself to you like a sticky burr to a cloak, intoning nonsense about darkness and light for her own obscure purposes… it's only because of Anakin that you're caught up between Palpatine and the Jedi in the first place! Let him get you out of it!"

"He is," Padmé said gently.

Sabé stepped closer to Padmé. Uncomfortably close. There was no escape. "Running away is not what I meant, and you know it," she growled into Padmé's face. "There has to be another way. If Anakin is so smart, let him find it."

Padmé stood her ground. "Don't you understand, Sabé? He has crossed Palpatine. If Palpatine doesn't know it already, he will shortly. What do you think that means for him? For any of us? Palpatine is without mercy. Without Anakin's protection we are as disposable as any bit of space garbage. There is no other way out."

Sabé searched Padmé's face in silence until Padmé couldn't stand it any longer. "I need you to help me, Sabé," she said humbly. "Please. If there was an alternative I would have taken it."

Sabé's eyes practically let off sparks. "And what is to become of the rest of us? The ones you are leaving behind?"

"You must take care of one another, and of the staff. Padmé Amidala must resign from the Senate and disappear into obscurity. Kill her off, if you have to…"

"Out of respect for her parents, maybe I should just have her declared insane," Sabé said coldly. "It's not such a leap."

The mention of her parents rocked Padmé, but she managed to remain on her feet. "Wait," she said quickly, and fetched a tiny data disc from the table by the door. Sabé's crushing silence followed her. Bravely Padmé returned to face her again, pressing the disc into her cold hand. "Please give this to my parents." It contained the message she had worked all night to compose while Anakin slept quietly beside her. She knew it wouldn't adequately convey her reasons for leaving. She only hoped it would convey her love.

Sabé looked dumbly down at her hand, and didn't speak.

"So you will do it?"

Sabé' didn't reply. Impulsively Padmé reached up to stroke her friend's face, letting her hand linger on her cheek. Sabé's eyes glittered dangerously, but she did not pull away.

"When Amidala is gone, you must help the Queen with the transition to a new Senator for Naboo," Padmé said resolutely. "This – all of this – is an enormous task, but if anyone can pull it off, you can. I'm glad I could speak with you first, before the others. You are the strongest of us all."

"You told Viceroy Organa before you told me."

Padmé gave a little shrug. "That piece, at least, is already in place. It is one small thing I could do for you, before burdening you with the rest."

Sabé pulled Padmé's hand away from her face, but she kept a tight hold on it.

"I hate this."

"I know."

"I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to leave you, either."

"How can I find you?"

"You can't try. You know that. You might be followed."

Sabé threw down Padmé's hand abruptly.

"I wanted," she said, in a tight, dry voice, "to love your child as I love you."

Before Padmé could recover from the blow and answer, Sabé turned away from her and left, shutting the door behind her.

x

When Sabé stumbled out of Padmé's door into a future she couldn't comprehend, Dormé and Captain Typho were waiting for her, their faces tight with anxiety. She let herself fall into their arms, where at last she could safely weep.


	30. Chapter 29 Separate Ways

**Chapter 29. Separate Ways**

"Boss?" Bram asked cautiously, sticking his head around the pile of crates behind which Anakin and V'ar had retreated to rework their deployment plan yet again.

Anakin and V'ar looked up at the same time; Anakin with a quick grin at the pilot who had become his de-facto second in command, and V'ar at the respect in Bram's voice. As often as she heard the pilots address Anakin in that way, it never failed to fascinate her. Seemingly effortlessly, he had become their undisputed leader.  
_  
Authority is truly given, not taken._

"What is it, Bram?"

"The _Tomlin's_ back from Talus. Your friend is lookin' for ya. He's gettin' impatient."

Anakin unfolded his legs and stood up immediately. "At last. Send him over here."

V'ar put down her datapad and followed suit. "This friend – is he the one who has been acting as your go-between with the Corellian authorities?"

"Oh, he's much more than that," Anakin said cryptically.

"You trust him?"

Anakin shrugged. "See for yourself. I'll introduce you."

It wasn't long before Bram reappeared with a short, wiry man in tow – a man who arrived without a greeting, planted his feet firmly in front of Anakin, and rested his hands almost belligerently on his hips.

"Thank you, Bram," Anakin said, dismissing the pilot politely. When he had left the little man looked pointedly at V'ar and still said nothing.

"V'ar Taanil," Anakin gestured from one to the other, "Keinan Pell. V'ar is with us."

The little man's eyes ran up and down V'ar's figure, taking in her rough brown robes and most particularly, the lightsaber that hung quite openly on her belt. He looked back at Anakin.

"Jedi," Anakin conceded.

Pell regarded V'ar suspiciously. "Strange Galaxy we live in."

"You can trust her. Did everything go as planned?"

"Yer wanna discuss the first bit of the job or the last bit, Big Man?"

"If all went well," Anakin said carefully, "we only need to discuss the last bit." He seemed amused, and V'ar got he distinct feeling that she was being left out of a private joke. She gave him a Force-poke in the ribs. He ignored her.

Pell scowled. "All's well. Now let's make this fast. I'm more'n a week behind because of you."

"Just think how far I am in your debt," Anakin said pleasantly.

"So you are, Big Man!" Pell growled. "Big time. An' don't yer forget it."

"You know I won't."

V'ar looked from one to the other. So this was the basis of their mutual trust; they swapped favors. The method seemed to suit them both. She couldn't help feeling unnerved.

"Yer got yer ships and ammunition. Everythin' yer asked for, no questions asked. Even the civilian transports. Yer certainly have the ear of the mighty."

"When are they arriving?" V'ar asked eagerly.

"Well, that's the thing," Pell said cautiously, ignoring V'ar. "The war's comin' straight this way, in case yer haven't heard, an' it's comin' fast."

"We know," Anakin said grimly, all good humor gone. "We started our final preparations the moment we heard. But we need the fighters and transports. What's the problem?"

"I got 'em to bring y'ar little fleet out of the shipyards as far as Talus, but they won't take 'em any further. All Corellian personnel have been mustered for military duty. They've got no pilots to spare. None at all. Y'ave got to go get 'em yerselves.

Anakin muttered a dark oath under his breath. "That's going to delay us by days." He shot a hard look at Pell. "What's the news from Nowhere?"

Pell shook his head. "Kenobi got some of 'em out of there, but not enough. Their defenses are weaker than ever. "

Instead of answering, Anakin paced a quick circle while V'ar and Pell watched him and waited for him to decide what was to happen next.

_Authority… _V'ar mused again. _He wears it like another skin... _

"Get out of here," Anakin snapped at Pell when he he'd come full circle. It startled V'ar, but Pell seemed unruffled. "Tell Bram to give you a ship… BRAM!He yelled suddenly, using the form of communication that worked best on Esh-Col. Far across the hangar, the rangy figure of the Esh-Col pilot instantly broke into a trot and headed toward them. Anakin turned back to Pell. "In fact, tell him to give you the N-4 that I finished working on last night. It's fast. Get straight back to Nowhere. On the way, order us enough droids to pilot the ships and get them dispatched here without delay."

"That's a tall order," Pell began dubiously. "Gotta get all kindsa authorization for that…"

Anakin stepped forward to stare down at the little man from his much greater height. "No ships… no defense for Nowhere. I need those ships now."

"Aye," Pell grumbled. "Pilot droids. Why not? I'll just get somebody ter conjure 'em outta thin air like they did yer ships…"

Anakin crossed his arms.

Bram arrived alongside, panting a little. "Pilot droids!" Pell said again, bitterly. "How about if I just pull 'em outta my…" Pell stopped with a guilty glance at V'ar. Bram chortled.

Anakin pointed to the waiting ships with a gloved hand.

Pell shrugged, accepting the inevitable. "So long, Big Man." He nodded at V'ar. "So long, Jedi. See yer on Nowhere."

V'ar waited until the two men were out of earshot before remarking dispassionately, "If the Colonies are falling that fast, there is no possibility that we will get that fleet before the invasion forces reach Corellia. You know that."

Anakin still stood with his arms crossed, staring into the distance. "We'll see about that."

V'ar had a sudden image of him on a tightrope, forging ahead, somehow pulling them all behind him. She decided to change the subject.

"Someone ought to check on the progress of preparations among the civilians. I'll go back to the settlement…"

Anakin stopped her with a hard hand on her arm and an equally hard look. "You have a way of contacting Kenobi, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." There was no point in pretending otherwise.

"Take a fast ship. Get out beyond Esh-Col's magnetic field. Contact him. Get him to back up our request and to expedite it."

"You trust him, then," She stared into his eyes.

Anakin shrugged. "He needs my help. To help him I need ships. "

Another transaction, nothing more? V'ar wondered. "All right. But what about the settlers…"

"I'll go."

V'ar nodded and headed out into the hangar. "I'll send Obi-Wan your greetings," she called when she turned around to wave; but she already was alone.

x

Alone in the stark landscape of Esh-Col between the spaceport and the settlement, Anakin pushed his speeder to the edge of its capabilities just because he could. Normally he traveled this unlit road at night, which required more attention and mental engagement. In the bright light of midday the ride was purely routine. That left a lot of time to think.

He had never much liked being alone with his thoughts, and he liked it even less now.

Whenever his awareness veered away from the specific and practical problems of the moment, it felt as though something heavy rested on his mind and heart; something cloudy and unnerving. Something that seemed to lurk behind his senses. Something that eked through the Force. He felt it most strongly when he was alone without a problem or an immediate challenge to work on.

It made the desolate road between the spaceport and the settlement seem endless.

Anakin gunned the speeder's protesting engine again and forced himself to review the events he had set in motion back at the hangar. Pell evidently had managed to delay the Holonet crew's return to Coruscant as much as possible without raising further suspicions. Anakin had made sure that they would arrive back in civilization armed with the dramatic story of the _Tantive IV's_ rescue and the death of its rescuer. Perhaps it would buy him just a little time…

No. He knew better. He was practically out of time.

He was sure that Pell would do his utmost to get the fleet of new ships moved to Esh-Col. The payment Pell wanted from Anakin in return depended upon those ships and weapons. Pell, like Obi-Wan, wanted Nowhere saved, whatever the cost.

Saving Nowhere was the price of Anakin's freedom. His and Padmé's. His family's. He would pay that price, however high it turned out to be.

The speeder engine's scream toned down a litle as Anakin drew nearer to the settlement. He couldn't quite see it yet, but he could sense the intense activity that was taking place on the streets, underneath the low roofs of the buildings and in the meeting halls as the majority of the population organized itself, packed up, and prepared to move on.

To Anakin's eternal joy, the last of the Refugee Outreach Alliance delegations, the Naboo and the Alderaani, had finally departed Esh-Col together days before, and Padmé's staff with them.

_Padmé._ Anakin smiled to himself despite the dust. At last he had her to himself.

At last...

After the first shock of surprise that the glamorous Senator from Naboo had opted to remain behind as one of them, the colonists of Esh-Col had accepted Padmé as one of them with remarkably few questions. The fact that even a prominent figure like a Senator would also choose to flee the war validated their own choices, somehow. It confirmed their sense that the situation in the Galaxy had become so dangerous, so hopeless that they could do no better than to leave their homes in order to save their lives and those of their families.

Very quickly, and without any fuss, Padmé had become the rallying point at the center of Esh-Col's exodus movement. In the days since her delegation's departure she had helped community groups to identify their transport and supply requirements. She had organized task groups. Working behind the scenes – no one on Esh-Col questioned her desire to remain anonymous – she had guided the negotiations with the Corellian overseers for continued support of the few settlers who had opted to remain behind.

It had become apparent to most of the colonists that the runaway Senator was expecting a child. Every day she received small gifts – special foods, tiny articles of clothing, hand-made toys – that never failed to delight and to charm her.

Anakin rounded the last bend and the jumbled low roofs of the settlement came into view. His heart leaped as it always did when he saw them. It meant that he was almost home.

Padmé was home, no matter where.

And yet… and yet… that leap of joy came together with a chilly touch of lingering uneasiness; a worry that grew each time he saw her. Each time that he returned to her, Padmé greeted him with an embrace that clung a little harder, that lasted a little longer. Every time he looked into her eyes they looked a little bit sadder, despite her smiles and reassurances. How often had he awoken in their pitch-black bedroom knowing that she was awake and staring into the dark? Coming home to her, Anakin longed to see her as desperately as always; but he dreaded it a little, too.

Padmé's melancholy had grown little by little since the Naboo and Alderaan delegations had left Esh-Col for Coruscant.

They were together, on their own at last; and yet she was sad.

Anakin ached with it.

The speeder's engine toned down to a low growl and then stopped altogether. Mindful of the teeming streets, Anakin left it in a shed on the outskirts and headed toward the heart of the settlement, the marketplace, searching through the Force for the light that guided his way. He found Padmé easily; she was somewhere near the meeting hall on the other side of the town. But in the process he found something else - something familiar and yet wholly unexpected.

Not something. _Someone._ A Force signature that had no right to be there.

He lengthened his strides and left the road to the marketplace, turning instead onto a small side street that circled the edge of the settlement. The Force signature grew stronger. He locked onto it – held it – kept walking quickly until he came to a small, non-descript house, one of many that looked just the same. He stopped in front of the door and probed inside with all of his senses on alert. He waited. Suddenly, he stepped aside and pressed his back to the wall behind the door hinge where the door would hide him when it opened.

Before long it did open, as he had known it would.

A woman emerged from the house and turned away from him down the street toward the marketplace. She was dressed like any other refugee on Esh-Col in soft leggings, a tunic and high boots. Her head and shoulders were wrapped in the ever-present large shawl that the colonists wore as protection against the dust. He couldn't see her face, but he knew her.

He knew her very well.

What he couldn't work out was the meaning of her presence on Esh-Col. She was supposed to have left with the others. He puzzled about it while he watched her walk away down the street. There was no hurry to confront her; now that he was aware of her presence she couldn't go anywhere without his knowledge. But why was she here? He sorted through all the possibilities until he arrived at one thought – one dismaying, terrible notion that left him feeling hollow and sick and empty.

Suddenly it was imperative that he question her. He couldn't wait. He had to know.

Anakin caught up with the woman before she reached the main road. He was beside her before she knew anyone was there.

"Dormé."

She flinched violently. When she turned to him her face was the picture of shock. She didn't speak.

"I suppose this means that the others disobeyed their instructions as well?" Anakin growled.

Dormé found her voice. "Certainly not! They'll be arriving on Coruscant soon, if they haven't already. They will carry out their assigned tasks. They will not let Padmé down!"

"Then why are you here?" Anakin's gut churned with the old familiar feeling of something uncoiling deep inside him.

"I can't leave her alone. She needs my help, especially now."

"She isn't alone." The uncoiling thing wrapped itself around his heart and began to squeeze. "She has _me_." Even to Anakin's own ears, the words held menace. He couldn't help it.

Dormé bristled. "Who is going to care of her while you're out all day and half the night doing whatever you do? Who will make certain she eats well, that she has the right clothing, that she is comfortable? Who will deal with all the people who demand to speak with her? She never says 'no' to anyone. She exhausts herself. Who will make sure she gets the time to rest? _You_?"

Anakin didn't answer.

"And when the child comes," Dormé went on more boldly, "assuming we all live that long… who will help her then? Who will care for them both? Who will give her some respite? Who will protect them when you're not around?"

"I…" For some reason Anakin's tongue didn't work. He tried again. "There are always people…"

Whatever fear had shown in Dormé face at Anakin's sudden appearance was long gone. Her color was high. Her eyes flashed. She stepped closer to him, gripped his arm, and hissed, "She was once the Queen of the Naboo! And now look at her! She needs someone by her side who knows her – who values her. Someone who understands what she has given up to be here with you."

Dormé's words hit Anakin like a hard slap in the face, but the blow was nothing compared to the icy fear inside of him. The uncoiling thing let go of his heart and clutched at his throat He could think of only one thing… one thing only …

Anakin grabbed Dormé by both shoulders, gripping her so tightly that she winced. "Does Padmé know you are here?" _Did she keep this from me?_ He gave her a little shake. "Does she know?"

"No," Dormé gasped, "she has no idea I'm here. This is not her doing."

Suddenly Anakin could breathe again. He let Dormé go immediately and pulled his hands back into his chest, as though withdrawing them could negate their assault on her shoulders. The sense of pressure left his chest and he could think again. "Why haven't you contacted her yet? What are you waiting for?"

Dormé backed away from him. Rubbing her shoulders, she said sullenly, "That should be obvious. I was waiting until we were underway… until you were out flying with the pilots and I could approach her alone, without you influencing her and deciding what is best for her." She glared at him. "It seems that I was right to be cautious."

Anakin's hands became fists and slid down to his sides. He stared at the ground. Dormé's words hurt; the feeling behind them was even harsher. But all that was nothing compared to the empty, lonely ache that coiled inside of him, whispering, _I'm not enough for her. I'm not enough… _

"Anakin?" he looked up. The harshness had left Dormé's voice; she only sounded concerned. "Are you all right?"

_She was once the Queen of the Naboo…_ the words echoed in his heart and mind. _Look what she gave up to be with you…_

"Come with me," he finally managed.

Dormé hesitated; held her ground.

Anakin made a mighty effort. "Please."

Dormé looked at him for a long moment, then nodded and fixed her shawl where it had slipped off her shoulders. Silently, she walked with him in the direction of the marketplace. Anakin made an effort to shorten his stride slightly to accommodate hers. Dormé didn't ask where they were going. They crossed the marketplace together. Anakin finally came to a stop in front of the meeting house that was alight with Padmé's Force signature. He gestured toward the door.

"She is in there."

Dormé' glanced at him, nodded, and stepped inside.

Anakin leaned against the rough door frame and watched from outside as Padmé's face lit up from surprise and joy; he heard her little shriek as she threw herself into Dormé's arms.

Holding himself tightly, Anakin lingered by the doorway a long time while the afternoon sun slowly pulled his shadow along the red dust at his feet.

x

"Captain Typho?"

At the urgency in the pilot's voice, Typho snapped into awareness so quickly that he bumped his head against the headrest of his seat.

"Is it time?" he asked quickly, dismayed that he had allowed himself to drift off to sleep. This was no time to be caught off guard, even among his own people.

"Yes, Sir. We're about to revert to realspace. You wanted me to let you know."

"Thank you. Contact the Alderaan ship as soon as we leave hyperspace. They should arrive close behind us."

Typho leaned back to watch the stars reappear in the viewscreen. Senator Amidala's sleek Naboo yacht made the jump as effortlessly as an arrow flying through clouds. The hyperdrive engines whined softly and the ship merely trembled as the grey streaks outside the viewscreen suddenly exploded into a firework of stars. When the Bridge lights brightened slightly in response to the abrupt blackness beyond, Typho rubbed his face and ran a sleepy hand over his cropped hair.

Coruscant lay in wait for them. It wouldn't be long before they arrived.

Ignoring the anxious churning in his gut, Typho stood up. "I'm going to check on the Senator. When you raise Senator Organa, signal me in her stateroom."

"Yes, Sir," the pilot responded efficiently. Typho halted when the pilot turned to look over his shoulder. His voice had softened, filled with genuine warmth and concern. "How is she? Is she all right?"

Typho's heart tightened a little. He shrugged, and then wished he hadn't because it exacerbated the tension in his neck. "As well as can be expected, I suppose." He looked sadly at the dark gray and red armbands worn by the bridge crew, and reached up to adjust his own. The Naboo would wear the symbols of mourning for quite some time to come.

Just prior to their departure from Esh-Col, the noble, tragic, terrible death of Senator Amidala's husband had been announced to the Naboo and Alderaan delegations. They were told that the remains of the mysterious pilot who had so daringly saved the _Tantive IV_ had shockingly been identified as Anakin Skywalker, former Jedi and crack pilot, who presumably had been on his way to surprise his wife on Esh-Col. Senator Amidala had collapsed with grief, they were told, and could not be disturbed.

Stunned and awed, Senator Amidala's staff and crew tiptoed around the ship with concerned faces and inquired after her well-being at every turn. He might as well get used to it. Mourning was a scared ritual among the Naboo; it was traditional for a bereaved spouse to go into complete seclusion for a period of at least two standard months. Respect for this traditional time of mourning would provide their only shield and protection from discovery.

It was a fragile shelter at best.

Anakin had sworn that none of the Outreach Alliance delegations or their staff learned of his presence on Esh-Col.

Captain Typho wasn't as confident.

Esh-Col was fueled by gossip. Anyone could have talked to the locals, and begun to wonder about the sudden appearance of an extraordinary new leader in the Runners' midst. If the tiniest shred of doubt transferred to Coruscant, it could hang them all.

_But that is out of my hands..._ Captain Typho rubbed the back of his neck. The worry might be out of his hands, but it definitely was lodged in the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

Rolling his shoulders a little in hopes of finding some ease, Typho made his way down the deserted passageway that led to the Senator's stateroom. It was a lonely journey without Sabé and Dormé to talk to. With Dormé gone, Sabé had spent the entire time sequestered in the stateroom. Furious at her Mistress, and confined to quarters without work to do, exercise or company, Sabé had been moody and withdrawn. Since he was the only one she spoke to, Typho had received the brunt of her outrage every time he had come to talk.

He stopped outside the Senator's Stateroom door and took a deep breath before activating the discreet chime. No one had asked after the missing Handmaidens, thank the stars. Everyone assumed that they were cloistered in the Stateroom with the Senator. It stood to reason that in her grief, Senator Amidala would need them by her side night and day. Typho had made certain that food enough for three was sent to the Stateroom, and Sabé had disposed of the excess after each meal.

With the courage and fortitude that was expected of Senator Amidala's Chief of Security, Typho activated the door chime and stepped inside the plush stateroom.

He looked around. It took a moment for him to notice the still figure sitting in the far corner of the room because she was covered from head to foot in the opaque, deep grey veil of mourning. She didn't say anything when he entered.

"It's a bit soon for that disguise," he ventured. "We won't make Coruscant for hours yet."

She didn't reply.

"Sabé?"

Silence.

Typho's stomach fluttered nervously. "Sabé? Are you all right?"

Silence.

He jumped for her and moved to yank off the veil. Everything depended upon Sabé. Everything. If she cracked…

"Relax," the shroud said, stopping him short. "I'm fine."

"Take that thing off, then," he snapped irritably. It wasn't like him, but he couldn't help it. The closer Coruscant loomed, the jumpier he became.

"I quite like it," the shroud said. "It's like looking at the world from underneath. Everything is dark and gloomy."

Typho sank down in the chair beside her and put his face in his hands. "Don't do this," he pleaded. "We can't afford for you to lose heart. Not now!"

The shroud took off the veil and Sabé patted his shoulder. "It's all right," she reassured him calmly. "I wasn't brooding. I was thinking."

Typho lowered his hands and looked her over carefully. In truth, she looked calmer and more collected than she had in some days. She didn't even seem angry, which was a great relief. But… thinking? His stomach tightened. When Sabé got to thinking, anything could happen.

"Thinking about what?" he demanded suspiciously.

The comm. sounded.

_Turdshine. _Typho leaped up to answer it.

"I have Senator Organa on holo-transmission, Captain. Relaying now."

"Thank you," Typho growled. "Standing by." He went back to Sabé, but before she could answer his question Bail Organa's image materialized on the table before them and bowed graciously.

"Sir." Typho bowed in return. "All is well on our end…"

"Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn't, Captain. A message was waiting for me when we reverted. The Supreme Chancellor is sending a military escort to ensure our safety for the remainder of our journey back to Coruscant."

"How did he know that we were on our way?" Typho demanded. "We informed no one…" but Sabé interrupted him.

"I did."

Both men turned on her.

"Just before we jumped to hyperspace I contacted Senator Amidala's office with the news of Anakin Skywalker's death. It should have spread like wildfire by now."

Typho opened his mouth but nothing came out. The Viceroy asked, with remarkable composure, "Was that wise?"

Sabé crossed her arms over her chest. "I think it was, Viceroy. I'm sorry there wasn't time to consult with you, but I believed it was essential that the news arrived before we did." She paused, looking down and frowning as though collecting her thoughts.

Typho felt the tension in his neck. Why?

"Why?" Organa asked.

"To buy us more time," Sabé said at last. "I believe that the Supreme Chancellor will not honor Senator Amidala's request for privacy in her grief, especially on Coruscant where he has immediate access to her. I expect that he will insist on questioning her personally, and that we will not be able to prevent it. Our deception will be discovered in short order."

"Do you really think he would go that far?" Typho burst out.

"Anakin warned us repeatedly that Palpatine would leave no stone unturned in investigating his death," Sabé said steadily. "When Senator Amidala revealed her plans to me…" She hesitated fractionally, "… her plans, and Anakin's, I couldn't accept that their drastic plan was necessary. It seemed outrageous unless…" She stopped.

"Unless?" Typho prompted.

Sabé took a breath and plunged on, "… unless Palpatine refuses to believe that Anakin is dead. If that is the case, the danger is every bit as great as they say, and more."

"I trust Senator Amidala's judgment," Bail said sternly. "She is counting on you to do the same."

"Think about it," Sabé insisted, her voice rising. "Anakin was Palpatine's most trusted associate. Now he is taking unheard-of risks to get away from him. Something terrible must have happened between them. If Palpatine refuses to believe that Anakin is dead, then it stands to reason that he will go to any lengths to find him. We – all of us – will be no more than minor obstacles to be crushed underfoot when he does."

"Then how could an early announcement of Skywalker's death help?" Organa's transmitted voice sounded a little hollow. Just a little. "The military escort is already on its way. If you are right, mightn't they be under orders to search our ships looking for a dead man?"

Typho surged to his feet. "Would they do that? Would Palpatine go that far?"

"I don't doubt it," Sabé said calmly. "Everything Anakin said seemed to indicate that Palpatine would refuse to believe he had died. Doesn't that seem odd to you? It did to me, so I tested the waters by sending word of Anakin's death as soon as we left Esh-Col."

"You took a terrible risk," Organa said severely.

Sabé stood up and stepped closer to the Viceroy's holo-image. "The fact that Palpatine sent that escort is evidence enough that once we arrive on Coruscant it will be impossible to maintain the fiction that Senator Amidala is among us. That is why she isn't going to Coruscant."

"What?" The Captain and the Viceroy burst out at the same time.

"Widespread knowledge of Senator Amidala's personal tragedy and the dangerous physical toll it has taken on her fragile pregnancy …"

"What?" They exploded again.

"… will make her abrupt decision to return home to Naboo to the waiting arms of her family and her personal healers completely understandable."

"We're going to Coruscant," Typho said stubbornly. "That is what we agreed."

"_I_ am going to Coruscant," Sabé said serenely. "I have some unfinished business there. But you and the phantom Senator Amidala and the rest of the ship's complement are returning to Naboo."

While Typho stood staring at her open-mouthed, Organa said quietly, "If what you say is true, Handmaiden Marterre, Palpatine will pursue her to Naboo."

"I know, Senator Organa. I know." Sabe frowned. "He just won't be able to get to her right away. The Queen will protect the Naberrie family from the Military Governor as long as she can. That extra time may be all we need."

"For what?" Typho asked, not wanting to know the answer.

Sabé sighed and hung her head. "For Padmé to die in the arms of her family, and her child with her."

"Before Palpatine gets his hands on her," Typho murmured.

"Exactly."

The funeral silence that followed was punctuated only by the faint hiss of the holo-projector and the faraway thrum of the engines.

"I'm still not certain that this is the wisest course of action," the Viceroy said at last. "Might you be mistaken about Palpatine's reaction to the news of Skywalker's death?"

"I don't believe so, Viceroy Organa," Sabé said stoutly. "I've had a lot of time to think it through. My chief worry is the cost to you. In Senator Amidala's absence, you are the nearest witness to the events on Esh-Col. I fear that the Supreme Chancellor will put a great deal of pressure on you."

"I promised to help Padmé. " Organa said in the tone of one whose loyalty had been questioned. "I will keep my word."

Sabé took a deep breath and let her arms slip down to her sides. It occurred to Typho suddenly that she had been very worried about Organa's response.

"Thank you, Viceroy," she said warmly. "And now, if you don't mind, I think I'll need a lift the rest of the way to Coruscant… we can talk at length on the way."

"Of course." The Viceroy's holo-image bowed gracefully. "I am at your command."

Sabé smiled and actually fell into a curtsey. Typho was amazed. _If he can charm her, he can charm anyone… _

It suddenly hit him in the gut that Sabé was leaving, and that he was about to assume sole responsibility for 'Senator Amidala's' stealthy return to Naboo. Typho came to his senses. "How long before the military escort arrives, Sir?"

"Three standard hours, Captain," Organa replied promptly. "You had better get underway." With another polite bow of farewell the Viceroy's holo-image vanished.

Captain Typho stared at the empty space for a moment, collecting his reeling thoughts. Sabé's hand on his arm brought him back to the moment.

"Come on," she said briskly. "We have work to do."

He turned to face her squarely. "Please tell me that you are thinking clearly. You have been very angry with Padmé for her decision. Promise me that anger isn't clouding your judgment."

Sabé's eyes narrowed in a look Typho knew all too well. "Oh, I'm still angry. Very angry." Her expression softened slightly. "But not at Padmé. Not any more. Like I said, I've had time to think."

"I don't know whether I can pull this off without you," Typho admitted. The ache in his neck had spread upward into a throbbing headache.

"You can." Sabé smiled wanly and patted his arm. "You will find a way."

Typho wished he felt as confident as she sounded. He felt the pull of duty and was about to leave for the bridge when one more thought stopped him.

"Sabé? If we don't make it out of this alive – and you and I both know that is very likely – I want you to know that it has been an honor working with you."

To his surprise, Sabé's face broke into a downright mischievous grin that Typho also knew very well. Now what? She reached up to straighten his eye patch and then pulled him toward her by the lapels, even though she knew full well that those were the two things that annoyed him the most.

"Don't be too hasty," she said more cheerfully than anyone had a right to be under the circumstances. "I haven't told you what comes next."


	31. Chapter 30 Masquerades I

**Chapter 30.** **Masquerades I**

_In the dream, he was running. _

_Running like a Jedi._

_Running like no human could run, because he was one with the Force: Swift. Sure. One with the rocks and the trees. One with the sky and the clouds. One with the wind._

_Running._

_But his heart was human. It pounded as though it had reached its limit; as though it would explode from the effort. But he kept running, because something was behind him. Following him. Something…he didn't know what. But it was unstoppable; it followed no matter how fast he ran. No matter how far he pushed his heart._

_It followed._

_I am a Jedi! he thought. I am powerful! I can outrun this thing. So he ran, and ran, but his heart was human, and it pounded in his chest. His blood pulsed in his brain. He thought he might faint… he might succumb…_

_But no, it was behind him. "It." Something. He had to run. He did run. _

_But his limbs were heavy. Human. As was his heart._

_I am a Jedi! he howled in his mind. I cannot fail! I will not fail!_

_But in time, he slowed. His limbs were heavy. His heart felt as if it would burst. And it gained on him. It came closer. He could feel its cold breath on his neck._

"_I have you," it hissed in his mind. "I have you now. You cannot escape me…"_

"_NO!" he shouted in his mind. In the dream. "NO!" He did not know why "it" must not seize him. He only knew that he must run._

_But he could no longer run._

_He was slowing…_

"_NOOOO!"_

"_I am here," a voice said. A familiar voice. A voice that resonated with power. A voice from the past. If only he could remember… "I am here…"_

_Anakin!_

He thrashed. He couldn't remember who Anakin was.

"Anakin!" Another voice. Hands on his face. Arms sliding around him. Holding him tightly.

"Anakin, I'm here!"

_Padmé._

He remembered. Relief made him weak. He stopped thrashing and sank into her embrace.

The urge to run subsided, little by little. Soon he could command his limbs. He reached for her; clutched her. Crushed her to his aching, irregularly beating heart.

"Padmé."

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm here. It will be all right. You were dreaming."

"Oh, Padmé." Gradually he stilled. He felt chilled from the sweat.

She slipped out of his embrace to cover him securely. He reached for her again.

"Are you all right?" she whispered into the night, nestling against him. "Are you all right now?"

He rested in her arms, breathing. The dream slipped away from him, little by little, but one thought remained.

"It's time to go," he whispered. "We have to go."

x

War.

How long had it been a fundamental reality of life in the Galaxy? Not long, surely. In the vast sweep of the Galaxy's recorded history its span was nothing – a punctuation point at best – the blink of an eye. And yet it seemed as though, in that fleeting cosmic moment, history's inexorable forward motion had been halted – throttled – and directed to a sinister new path.

Bail Organa studied his reflection objectively, paying particular attention to his eyes. Impassive. That's what he needed them to be. Impassive and impenetrable.

Someone knocked softly on the door to his inner office.

"Enter," Bail called, taking careful note of any changes in his expression when he spoke. He could see none. _Good._

Aeron slipped inside. Bail could see him reflected in the mirror. The young man closed the door carefully behind him and then pressed himself against it, as though reluctant to venture further into the room.

"It is time, Sir."

"Thank you Aeron." An awkward pause reared up between them, and then Bail added, "I've been thinking."

"I can imagine that you have, Sir."

"This war is different, Aeron."

"Sir?"

"This war is different from any other in history." Bail watched the stern face in the mirror. "Brother against brother, droid against living beings. We breed people in vats for the sole purpose of destroying other people. They exist only for battle and death. The Galaxy is being ripped apart with no more compassion than giant hands breaking bread. The loaf is unalterably torn and the crumbs are brushed away without a second thought."

"Er… bread, Sir?" Aeron ventured.

_I told you to have breakfast, boy, _Bail's Grandmother's voice snapped irritably. _We don't want you losing your focus on an empty stomach. _

He ignored her. Food was the last thing he needed.

"Yes, bread," Bail mused, more to himself than to Aeron. "The Galaxy is being devoured, and no one knows by whom, or why."

"Are you all right, Sir?"

"Yes, Aeron. Why do you ask?" Bail checked his reflection. It gave away nothing. Good.

"No reason, Sir. You had better go. The Supreme Chancellor's office called to confirm that your meeting will take place on time."

After one last look at the mask in the mirror Bail turned resolutely away from it. "Walk with me, Aeron."

"As you wish, Sir."

The time had come: the time to lie as though his life depended upon it, which it surely did. Even more important to Bail, though, were the other lives that depended upon this meeting. On this lie.

_Padmé._ The memory of her standing on the bluff on Esh-Col, her eyes soft with sympathy, threatened to melt his carefully constructed inner scaffolding.

_Why did she do it? _The old woman's voice demanded. _Why would she tell you that Skywalker was alive? You'd be better off not knowing…_

Bail brushed away the thought. Padmé had done it for the best of all reasons: compassion. Knowing how Bail had suffered over the death of the mysterious pilot, Padmé had told him the truth to give him ease.

_Compassion, _Bail reflected again - that essential core of civilized life was being systematically and brutally driven from the Galaxy by the darkest war in history.

And so, because Padmé had given him the gift of the truth, he must now lie to protect that truth. To protect her. To protect everything that she stood for – that _he_ stood for.

Truth. Justice. Compassion. Defended with lies.

The irony was not lost on him.

The walk from the Alderaan Delegation offices to the Supreme Chancellor's suite seemed endless. Aeron was silent and anxious. Bail regretted asking his loyal young assistant to share his burden, even for that long, lonely walk.

"On second thought," Bail suggested just before they left the vast section of the building that housed the Delegation offices, "perhaps you should check on that young lady in the Naboo office. "She must be overwhelmed at the moment."

The quick flash of relief and something else – anticipation, perhaps? – that crossed Aeron's face at the suggestion gave Bail his one bright moment of the morning. Pleased, he waved Aeron away and continued on his way alone.

x

Amid the teeming mass of beings that engorged the Senate building, the flood of communications that poured in and out and through it, the debates, the secret alliances, the tramp of military boots and the hiss of gossip, there was only one place that was always private and invariably stood aloof from the confused jumble of ideas and impulses that existed elsewhere: the Supreme Chancellor's office. It was more than an office. It was a suite of deceptively serene, flowing spaces. No one entered there without an invitation.

No, not an invitation. A summons.

Past the threshold flanked by the ever-present Red Guard, in that uncluttered, hushed luxury, there was no room for noise or conflict. No allowances were ever made for muddled thinking or even worse, for uncertain loyalties. In that grand space, the power center of the Galaxy, there was room for one priority, and one only: the Supreme Chancellor's will.

This truth had not always been so evident, or so widely understood. Many had come into that office in outrage or despair or foolish defiance. Invariably those misguided fools had left not just empty-handed, but with the odd and demoralizing feeling that they had lost something in the process; a feeling of being diminished. Found wanting. For all intents and purposes, discarded. In time, those feelings inevitably proved to be well-founded. In time, opposition and defiance had ceased altogether, preserving the Supreme Chancellor's office as a place of peace, and order, and agreement.

Always, the Supreme Chancellor's will prevailed.

It was into this office that Palpatine had summoned Prince Bail Organa, Viceroy of Alderaan, leader of the Loyalist Committee, member of the odious and suspect Refugee Outreach Alliance, known member of the purportedly secret opposition group (begun, without a doubt, by that whore Padmé Amidala) and eyewitness to Anakin Skywalker's supposed demise. "To present your eyewitness account of the tragic events on Esh-Col," the message had said.

It wasn't a request.

Organa was due momentarily. Palpatine was quite certain that he would not be late. He wouldn't dare. If he was, he would be crushed like an insect, trampled, destroyed, which was no less than the man deserved, for so many, many reasons…

…_how dare he... how dare he … how dare he…_

…but it was not Organa whom Palpatine pictured in mind when he hurled those thoughts into the Force like shrapnel from a brutal blast.

It was Skywalker.

He glanced at his bowl of firestones. Certain stones – the ones he came back to again and again… remained as mute now as they had been for some time.

It was insufferable. It was intolerable. Considering that anger was his fuel – considering that hatred was the blood that ran through his veins – he could not remember ever having experienced such depths of ice-cold rage. He glanced out the window. In this heightened state of pure animus he could no doubt flatten half the miserable planet without the benefit of any weapons. He was sure of it. But even that surety – that unshakable confidence in his incomparable powers – brought him no pleasure, because in spite of it… _In spite of it!..._ Skywalker had defied him.

_He defied my power. He defied his destiny._

_He defied me._

The holo-image of his assistant appeared on his desk. Even in the uncertain form of particles of light, Dar Wac conveyed cringing fear.

The long hours since the announcement of Skywalker's death had not been pleasant ones.

"Senator Organa has arrived, My Lord."

"Make him wait," Palpatine spat, canceling the transmission so he didn't have to listen to the Rodian's stammered reply.

Organa.

It infuriated him that he needed the man. He needed to know everything that Organa knew. Because of that, he could only show his contempt in petty ways.

_For now._

Palpatine closed his eyes and reviewed the core of his rage. The moment word of Anakin's death had arrived in the form of a message forwarded to his office, as an afterthought, no doubt, by some functionary or other in Amidala's office…

… _as if Anakin's position as Amidala's husband were more important than his position as my personal representative!…_

… he had cut himself off from everything else and dived into the Force to find him.

Anyone could be found in the Force – anyone living or dead, because their essence, all essence, was one and the same. Life and death were distinguished only by substance and realm. There was no death. There was only the Force. The Force could hide nothing from one with the power to discern minutely among these myriad energies. A Sith was such a one.

A Sith recognized no boundaries. A Sith stopped at nothing. A Sith's will prevailed.

But because Darth Sidious' power base was built upon the living, because his goal was to draw upon, and ultimately to control, the energies and substance of the corporeal world, it mattered enormously to him whether Skywalker still walked among them. The realm of the dead was Sidious' tool and not, for as long as he could hold it off, his domain. He needed Skywalker alive until _he _decided that his usefulness had ended. It had to be _his _choice.

And there he had run into the problem that had sent him into the towering rage that knew no bounds. The rage of a Sith.

Skywalker's presence in the Force was as vague and ungovernable as the flames of the pale firestone that sat in the center of the bowl on his desk.

He must be among the living. It appeared that he was. He had tracked him. Chased him. Fought with every dark method at his disposal to isolate Skywalker's Force signature and to pin him down. Often he thought that he had succeeded; but each time he was about to seize hold of Skywalker's essence, to batter his way into his living mind, something slipped between them – something inexplicable. Something that he could not decipher. Something… and this was the truly maddening part … something that was outside of his experience.

The horrifying, damning, unspeakable truth was that, while he was certain that Anakin was very much alive, he could not confirm it. Without being able to get a "fix" on Anakin in the Force, he could not locate him without resorting to the inefficient methods of the mundane world.

He reached for the small, pale firestone that had infuriated and provoked him for so long. He rested it on his palm. Stared at it. Savored the urge to destroy it, and what it represented.

_Not yet._

_But when the time comes, one way or another, I will see you suffer._

Still cradling the firestone in his hand, he signaled his craven assistant.

"Send in Senator Organa."

x

The Viceroy of Alderaan and Senator from the wealthy and influential Alderaan system knew a political game when he saw one.

An aristocrat who had been raised for leadership from birth, the Prince was no stranger to nuance, hints of meaning and the complex dance of political double dealing. From the beginning, he had understood that the Supreme Chancellor's summons was nothing less than a personal challenge. He had expected that. Even so, the exact nature of the contest ahead became crystal clear to him when the Chancellor's Rodian assistant asked him to wait.

Bail had worked with enough Rodians to know when one was scared.

Dar Wac was terrified.

That could only mean that the Supreme Chancellor was very, very angry. And that meant that, despite a lifetime of experience, Bail was on entirely new ground.

He had never seen the supreme Chancellor exhibit open anger before. Nor had anyone of his acquaintance.

_This should be interesting,_ his grandmother's voice commented sardonically.

Bail suspected that 'interesting' didn't begin to describe what awaited him. Resolutely he pushed the old lady's voice into a small imagined box somewhere in the furthest recesses of his mind and shut the lid on it securely. As a result, when the unhappy Dar Wac finally delivered the dreaded news that "the Supreme Chancellor will see you now," Bail entered Palpatine's lair completely alone.

"Your Excellency," Bail greeted the most powerful man in the Galaxy calmly while striding steadily across the office toward him.

Palpatine waited behind his bare, polished desk framed by the panorama of Coruscant that spread out behind him outside the soaring windows. His white face seemed to float above his severe dark gray robes – his face and the pale hands that rested on the chair-arms seemed oddly disembodied. Bail blinked at the illusion.

As no return greeting was given, Bail had to hover before that desk like a schoolboy in front of his master until at last, a diffident wave of one of those pale hands indicated that he should take a seat.

Bail bowed, and sat.

Palpatine merely stared at him, so Bail stared back, willing himself not to break the silence first.

"Well?" The Chancellor said at last.

"You asked to see me, Supreme Chancellor?" Bail said, easily enough.

"My message was clear."

"Excuse me?"

"You are to report on the events on Esh-Col." A brief pause felt like a chill breeze. "So report."

Palpatine's never-before-seen rudeness was shocking. _So this is what his anger feels like._

_Cold._

"Which events, exactly, Your Excellency?" Bail asked ingenuously. "Our delegation was on Esh-Col for some time. The official report of the Refugee Outreach Alliance has already been sent to you… as a courtesy."

The Refugee Outreach Alliance was technically not a Senate function; it was a private initiative that had been given Senate support.

For now.

Technically, the Alliance owed Palpatine nothing.

Technically.

Palpatine's eyes seemed to burn in his pallid face.

"Let's not waste time, Senator," he said dismissively. "You know why I have called you here."

Bail did. He stalled.

"I'm not certain what you mean, Supreme Chancellor. Perhaps if you could be more specific…"

"Senator Organa," Palpatine said coolly, using the lowest ranking of Bail's many titles, "you disappoint me."

Bail felt a strange prickling at the base of his neck. It grew stronger when his adversary leaned forward ever so slightly; staring at him with eyes that hardly seemed to blink at all. Bail waited.

"I want you to explain to me, Organa, how someone like _you_ managed to kill someone like Anakin Skywalker."

x

As much as Dellia had hated Anakin Skywalker while he lived, she thought she hated him even more now.

She wouldn't have thought it possible.

Alone in the Naboo Delegation offices for once, Dellia finally gave up all pretence of working. Since the arrival of Padmé's cryptic message that she was returning to Naboo for health reasons…

..._to grieve, _Dellia thought bitterly…

… the message center had been overloaded with personal expressions of sympathy and offers of assistance for the Senator. With queries about work that had been pending since the Senator's departure with the Alliance. With questions about the length of time the Senator would be away and demands for clarification about the Senator's continued participation on committees. With every other kind of outpouring imaginable, except the one Dellia needed the most.

In all those messages, she hadn't found one – not one! – addressed to her personally from the Senator or even from her closest staff. Not one message to give guidance or instructions, to tell her what she should do now. Not one message to explain what all this might mean for her future.

Dellia had juggled the sudden avalanche of work as best she could, bringing in support staff to help where possible. But ultimately the task of replying to each message had fallen to her, which seemed a mean trick since it seemed she knew less than anyone about the Senator's long-term plans.

_Typical._ _They never tell me anything. Not even now._

They – Padmé's 'inner circle – had abandoned her again.

In the relative peace of late morning, when the day's early flood of messages and demands had died down, Dellia switched the message center to automatic and wandered into Padmé's private inner office. Avoiding the Senator's desk and the work it represented she went straight to the window and stared out, not knowing what to think any more.

Anakin Skywalker. Dead. In an accident, no less. It seemed impossible.

In the far distance, she could make out the spires of the Jedi Temple.

As long as Anakin had been alive she had felt alive. Her hatred for him had sustained her through the darkest times. Then the Jedi Master's surprising interest in his comings and goings had given her a new sense of importance. She had begun to look forward to her visits to the Temple. Master Windu had grown gradually less frightening to her. He acknowledged her; he spoke to her kindly. The Temple Healers knew her well by now, too. They talked to her. They asked about her health. No one else ever wanted to know how she was doing… no one except Aeron, of course.

Aeron. She sighed and turned back toward Padmé's desk, thinking how nice it would be to call him. He always made time for her – to chat, or to share a meal. But there was no time now. She had an appointment with Master Windu soon – an appointment that she feared would be her last.

Without Anakin Skywalker in the picture, it was unlikely that the Jedi would need anything more from her. They would abandon her, as the Naboo had done, and she would once again be entirely alone.

Alive, Anakin had cost her the life she had wanted. In death he had deprived her of her only support.

Funny, how hatred survived even when the hated one was gone.

Dellia wiped away a stray tear. With a last look across the city at the faraway Temple, she made ready for what was sure to be her final journey there. After making certain that all the Delegation Office's automated systems were operational, she pulled on her traveling cloak and stepped out into the corridor, only to find herself nose to nose with a very startled Aeron.

"Oh…" she gasped somewhat foolishly. "It's you!"

Aeron recovered more quickly. "You're on your way out. I don't want to keep you. I just… I just wanted to see whether you're all right."

"Yes, thank you." For him, Dellia mustered a smile. It was surprisingly easy. "I'm… I have an appointment. I'm sorry…"

"It's all right," he said hurriedly, already backing away. "I… perhaps I can call you later?"

"Yes, please do!" She lingered a little, watching him hurry away down the corridor in the direction of the Alderaan Delegation Offices.

Because of that, she didn't see the young man in the low cap who had come up directly behind her.

Suddenly he was there, when Dellia turned the other way to head for the lifts – right beside her. He grasped her arm and she let out a little scream.

"Don't be frightened," Sabé's voice said from behind some remarkably convincing facial hair. "It's me."

Dellia gawped at her. Sabé's disguise was certainly effective. "You! I thought you… the Senator…you all left…"

"You didn't think we would just abandon you here, did you, Dellia? After all you've done for us?" Sabé's voice was husky-sweet. It was enough to make Dellia tremble.

"I… n-no," she stammered, caught entirely off guard. "I… just… there were no messages … I didn't know."

"I'm your message," Sabé smiled. "Delivered in person. It's the least we could do for you."

Dellia began to sweat. She wasn't sure why. Surely Sabé couldn't know…

"But it seems you have an appointment," Sabé went on, as nicely as could be. "I don't want you to be late." She ginned suddenly, showing a row of white teeth. "I know! I'll come with you. We can talk on the way."

"No…thanks…." Dellia spluttered, wishing she could think clearly.

"I insist." Dellia noticed suddenly that Sabé still had firm grip on her arm, and showed no signs of loosening it. In fact, she encircled Dellia's arm securely with hers, and began to move towards the bank of lifts, for all the world like close friends strolling down the corridor.

"Really, it's all right," Dellia tried feebly one last time. "You don't have to…"

"We're off to the Jedi Temple, I believe," Sabé said, bringing Dellia's small world crashing down on her once and for all. "Come along, Dellia. We mustn't keep the Jedi waiting."

x

_In a way,_ Bail reflected in the only part of his mind that wasn't wholly engaged in battle, _this is a blessing… _in the sense that it was a boon to be shown the depths of one's adversary; a benefit to perceive the pattern in his obsessions.

Over the course of the 'conversation' between them Palpatine's discourteous brevity had devolved into a rapid-fire interrogation. His appetite for details seemed endless … how many engines had the _Tantive_ _IV_ lost? To what degree was she listing? When had those aboard become aware of the small ship that had attached itself to her? Exactly how had the landing occurred? How long had it taken?

Palpatine had been even more interested, if possible, in cross-examining Bail about the subsequent investigation. Who had been in charge of studying the wreckage? What tests had been carried out? Who had made the findings? How had they been communicated?

Every question that Palpatine had asked – each point he had pursued relentlessly – had brought Bail closer to a new lucidity about the rightness – the _necessity_ – of treating this man Palpatine as an enemy of the Republic. If he had held onto any lingering doubts about this course of action, this battle of wits and wills did away with them once and for all.

Palpatine cared about no one and about nothing other than his personal agenda. He was unmoved by the near-death of the entire Alderaan Delegation. He was indifferent to the plight of the refugees on Esh-Col to the point of impatience when Bail brought it up. More sinister still, he was visibly incensed by any mention of Padmé's grief over her loss, and even by the idea that she had the right to mourn Skywalker

In fact, with all pretence of courtesy having been laid aside, Palpatine gave the impression of someone who had been robbed of a valuable asset; almost, Bail thought with a chill, as though Skywalker had been something over which he had pride of ownership. A prize. A bounty.

Something that he alone owned.

And therein lay the blessing in this encounter. In the midst of the stormy inquisition , Bail found within himself the profound assurance – the validation – that his covert actions against Palpatine, and those of his colleagues and of the Jedi, were right and just and for the good.

Palpatine the man was validation enough for any actions taken against his rule as Supreme Chancellor – even by the deeply ethical standards of a civilized Prince of Alderaan.

Bail even gained a good deal of sympathy for Skywalker's drastic actions, and for Padmé's daring and devoted support of his efforts to escape.

His last doubts gone, Bail might have felt relieved had the conversation – if it could be called that – not taken a chilling turn.

Palpatine leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together under his chin.

"I am not satisfied, Organa."

"What more do you need, Your Excellency?" All the salient reports have been made available to you."

"I will speak with the Naboo. I will speak with Amidala."

Here it came. Bail forced himself to relax into his chair, the better to sink into the lie that no longer gave him the slightest discomfort.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" he said with all the warmth of a deeply concerned friend. "Senator Amidala is terribly ill. Her pregnancy has been quite fragile, and the shock of her husband's death is, I believe, placing it in grave danger. She has returned to Naboo to seek the care of her personal healers, and to rest." He shook his head sadly. "I'm terribly worried about her."

It was always nice when a lie contained a good deal of truth.

"Indeed?" Palpatine seemed to freeze.

"Of course, I've tried to help in any way I can. I have taken over a number of her responsibilities until the Queen of the Naboo appoints a replacement, as have other of her colleagues."

"A replacement?"

"Well, yes, Your Excellency. Realistically, I doubt that she will be able to return to her duties before the birth of her child. It would be too risky."

At that moment – the moment that Bail would look back on as the most singularly disturbing of the whole dreadful encounter – Palpatine's open hostility vanished, replaced by the finely tuned courtesy and kindly geniality that Bail now knew to be utterly false.

Palpatine's eyes softened. He clasped his hands in his lap. Leaning forward with a look of pure concern on his face, he said, "Oh, this is terrible! Just terrible. Thank you for telling me, Senator Organa. I will do everything I can to help her. I am acquainted with the very best healers in the Galaxy." His face brightened. "I shall send them to her."

His mind racing, Bail couldn't think of anything to say except, "That is very generous of you, Your Excellency."

"It is the least I can do for the widow of my esteemed and trusted associate, Anakin Skywalker," Palpatine said, sounding deeply sincere. "And for the sake of his …progeny."

Something inside of Bail went ice-cold.

Pleading an overwhelming workload, he made his exit as quickly as he could after that. It was hardly reassuring that Palpatine suddenly seemed as eager for him to go as Bail was to leave.

_He is done with me, _Bail thought in a panic as he fled the Supreme Chancellor's sanctuary. _He's done with me and he's moving on to Padmé…_

Skywalker had been right. In the end it didn't matter how well Bail had lied. Palpatine would not stop until he had discovered the truth.

_Well, _his grandmother's voice said dryly, having somehow found its way back into the forefront of his mind; _at least you have taken the measure of your enemy._

Quite a few Senate staff and officials had occasion to be astounded that morning by the sight of the invariably calm and sedate Senator from the Alderaan system running full-tilt through the staid corridors that led to the Delegation offices.


	32. Chapter 31 Masquerades II

**Chapter 31.** **Masquerades II**

Halfway to the Jedi Temple, Sabé's comm. signaled discretely. She hesitated. There were only two people who knew how to contact her, and a call from either one likely meant trouble.

She shot a glance at the sullen girl beside her. Dellia had edged as far away from her on the seat they shared in the air taxi as she could. Her face was turned resolutely away.

The comm. sounded again.

_Organa or Typho?_ Sabé wondered. She reached under her heavy cloak for her comm. and checked the privacy settings on the device. Reassured that Dellia could not overhear the other side of the conversation, and spoke into it quietly, watching the girl all the while.

"Yes?"

"It's all true," Organa's voice said succinctly. "He is obsessed. He will not stop searching."

Sabé's heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped thing. "I see," she said neutrally.

"He is planning to send Healers to Naboo immediately."

"I see," Sabé said again, watching the back of Dellia's head without really seeing it.

"It was all very odd," Bail said with the faintest trace of a tremor in his normally unshakable voice. "He seemed…more interested in the health of his _progeny_—that was the exact word he used—than in that of anyone else."

"Oh…" Sabé had an odd taste in her mouth. Metallic. Like blood.

"Do you have any idea why?"

"No," Sabé said honestly. "I don't."

The towers of Coruscant flashed by her window. Sabé stared at them, unseeing.

"Sabé?"

"Yes?"

"I hate to say it, but I think that Senator Amidala's condition may be far worse than we feared … she might not survive the journey to her home."

_And so it ends. Any future involving a return to normalcy ends right here._

Sabé blinked back the sting of tears. "I understand."

"Godspeed."

The connection ended.

Sabé looked out the window, taking a moment to calm her mind and keep it from racing away. A moment was all she had. Not enough time to warn Typho because the taxi already was circling the Temple's public landing platform. Not enough time to grieve – Dellia shifted in her seat, apparently roused from her reverie, and it was time to deal with the matter at hand. Sabé dragged her attention back to the girl. Dellia's eyes stared straight ahead. She had avoided looking at Sabé during the entire short journey.

"I assume you know your way from here," Sabé commented dryly.

Dellia didn't answer. The taxi stopped and she remained stubbornly seated.

"Move!" Sabé snapped.

Dellia eased herself out of the taxi and walked away toward the doors at the far end of the platform. Sabé scrambled to catch up and grasped her arm, just in case.

"They won't be expecting two of us," Dellia muttered as they approached the massive doors.

"I'll deal with that."

For a place that was as insular and secretive as the Jedi Temple, the doors hardly seemed to be guarded. A lone Jedi sat in the spare and otherwise empty foyer just beyond. He rose when Dellia and Sabé stepped inside and waited quietly for them to approach. When Dellia announced herself and explained her appointment he merely nodded and indicated a door on the far side of the foyer.

_That's it? _Sabé wondered, but apparently it was. The door the Jedi had indicated opened of its own accord and Sabé followed Dellia into a small room where another Jedi waited for them – a tall, stern-faced, dark-complexioned man whose face Sabé recognized. She knew who he was, of course…

Mace Windu, member of the Jedi Council, and one of the most important Jedi in the Galaxy greeted Padmé's low-ranking and dim-witted little Secretary with a polite bow and a generous wave of his hand to indicate that she should take a seat.

"Good morning, Dellia," he rumbled in a tone Sabé assumed was kindly, although it sounded gruff. "Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you," Dellia replied, sounding, Sabé thought, just a tiny bit smug. She looked only at Master Windu as she took her seat, ignoring Sabé pointedly and not bothering to introduce her.

Sabé raised one eyebrow.

"And you, Madam?" The Jedi Master said blandly to Sabé. "I don't believe we have met."

Sabé fought down the urge to scratch her stuck-on whiskers, which were itching. "Sabé Marterre," she offered. "Senator Amidala's Chief Handmaiden. I need to speak to you about several urgent matters." Sabé glared at the girl beside her, whose hostility was almost palpable. "Privately, if you please."

Windu considered her for a moment, and then nodded. "Dellia," he suggested with surprising gentility, "perhaps you would like to use this opportunity to visit the Healers? They are waiting for you."

"But…" Dellia protested, looking a little panicked. Sabé watched her curiously.

"You have nothing to fear, Dellia. Nothing at all," the Jedi said in a tone that, while kind, somehow didn't invite further argument. "I will speak with you when the Healers have finished."

Dellia stood up again and with a particularly nasty glare at Sabé, left the room. Sabé was left alone with the Jedi Master and whole series of questions that jostled around in her head in their impatience to be asked.

"Do sit down," Master Windu offered. "I suspect we may be here for some time."

Sabé understood how fortunate she was to have achieved an audience with someone like Windu so quickly, but she couldn't help being impatient. _I don't have much time,_ she worried. _I must reach Typho… _Her impatience made her blunt. "What business could you possibly have with that little…with Senator Amidala's private Secretary?" she burst out. "Is she spying for you?"

"In a manner of speaking." By contrast the Jedi remained as calm and stolid as …as a mountain. Sabé felt as though she had a long climb ahead of her.

"But why? What do you need to know about Senator Amidala that you could not learn simply by asking her?"

Windu nodded. "You are right. Senator Amidala has always been very accessible." He paused briefly. "That is not the case with her husband, however."

"Anakin?" Sabé said in disbelief. "Little miss amateur was spying on Anakin? For the _Jedi_? Forgive me if I fail to understand what you thought you could gain by that."

The side of Windu's mouth twitched as though it was trying to smile. "I agree, he said gravely. "If Skywalker wanted to hide something, his secret would not be in danger from Dellia. But as it is necessary that we keep track of him, we try not to leave any avenues unexplored."

"Why must you keep track of him?"

After a moment's thought, Windu said quietly, "It is our duty."

"Because he was once a Jedi?"

"Because of his current position."

"With the Supreme Chancellor?"

"Precisely."

So it was true. The Jedi did not trust Palpatine any more than Padmé or Senator Organa or the others in the opposition did. Sabé felt her head begin to reel from trying to sort out all the implications and struggled to keep her thoughts from scattering.

"It's absurd," she declared bluntly, forcing herself back to the point. "Surely you have better methods of learning about Anakin – and his employer, if that is your agenda – than by violating Senator Amidala's trust and her right to privacy!"

Windu didn't reply. If Sabé had hoped for an explanation or even an apology, it was not forthcoming.

"Well, it's over now," Sabé said firmly. "It's all over because Anakin is... gone."

They stared at one another.

It was the Jedi who finally broke the silence. "Let us not waste time, Miss Marterre. When I ask her, will V'ar Taanil confirm that Anakin Skywalker is still very much alive? Please bear in mind that she will not lie to me."

Sabé felt herself crumple a little, even though she knew that it would have come to this sooner or later. She had wished for later. "Yes," she said reluctantly. "V'ar will confirm that Anakin is alive."

Windu nodded. "Thank you for your trust."

"I don't trust you," Sabé snapped. "I merely bowed to the inevitable, since V'ar knows the truth. I don't trust anyone who endangers Senator Amidala. You Jedi have done that once already, when you betrayed her on Naboo. Then I find that you are using an employee to spy on her…"

Again Windu didn't reply. After a pause Sabé went on even more vehemently, "Now you are placing her in the middle of a tug-of war with a powerful political enemy. She has done nothing to deserve that!"

A deep frown line formed between the big Jedi's brows. "I understand your position, young Handmaiden. I would merely remind you that the Jedi did not place Senator Amidala in that situation. It is a circumstance that she and Skywalker created _together_."

Sabé was inclined to agree with him – about Anakin, anyway – but that was irrelevant now. Events had marched inexorably on, overwhelming any residual issues of the past. For the first time she wondered whether the Jedi fully understood this.

She leaned forward and fixed her eyes on the Jedi's. "I have to ask you, Master Jedi – what are your intentions regarding Anakin Skywalker? You know he is alive. He prefers to be thought of as dead. Are you going to betray him?"

The hard look that flashed in the Jedi's eyes made Sabé's heart stumble and miss a beat entirely.

"I assure you that we mean no harm to Senator Amidala, Miss Marterre." His voice reminded Sabé of the rumble that precedes an avalanche. "In fact, we consider her safety to be our highest priority."

Sabé let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She stared at the grim-looking Jedi, baffled. "Senator Amidala's safety is the Jedi Order's highest priority? Why?"

Windu suddenly looked up and over Sabé's shoulder, startling her. She turned to see that somehow the heavy door behind her had swung open without her noticing it. Framed within it stood a tiny, wizened old Jedi, leaning on a gnarled stick. _This must be…_

"Linked, Senator Amidala's future is, with that of Skywalker," the old one said firmly. "The one cannot be separated from the other."

It seemed he had been standing there long enough to at least hear the last part of the conversation, and she hadn't noticed a thing – not a sound, nor even the change in air pressure when the door was opened. Gooseflesh pricked up Sabé's arms. It disturbed her deeply that anyone could have caught her so thoroughly by surprise.

"Master Yoda?" Sabé asked tentatively. She had never before met him in person.

"The same," the little figure said, and inclined his head in a gracious way that might have looked comical had it not been… well, Jedi Master Yoda. Padmé had often spoken highly of him, and had commented that Palpatine seemed to respect his counsel more than anyone else's. And now… how did things stand now? Suspicion and mistrust congealed into a knot that lodged somewhere just under her heart.

Master Yoda gimped into the room, leaning heavily on his stick for support.

"Many questions, you have, young Handmaiden. Ask them of us, you may."

Sabé watched in fascination as the old Jedi hobbled over to the chair next to her and gracefully – she couldn't work out quite how he did it – hoisted himself up into it and settled himself facing her. She wasn't convinced that she would get any straight answers, but given that she suddenly had the full attention of two august members of the Jedi Council, decided that the opportunity mustn't be wasted.

"Master Yoda, why has V'ar Taanil attached herself to Senator Amidala as persistently as a Haldean stickyfly? Why do you believe that Senator Amidala requires her protection?"

The old Jedi's ears flattened and he nodded. "Ask yourself, you must, why Skywalker prefers to appear dead."

Sabé sighed inwardly and hoped that not all of her questions would be answered by more questions. She didn't have the time for this. "The only explanation is that someone is after him. Someone who can do him great harm." Boldly she looked from one Jedi Master to the other. "Is it you?"

Master Yoda scrunched up his face while a muffled breath escaped from Master Windu. "Trust the Jedi, Skywalker does not," Yoda said plainly. "But the source of his fear, we are not. He flees… another."

Sabé frowned, her mind racing. "Chancellor Palpatine?" she suggested at last.

The two Jedi glanced at one another. _So it does have to do with Palpatine…_ she was quickly reviewing everything Bail Organa had said to her about his meeting with the Supreme Chancellor when Master Yoda broke into her thoughts.

"This war that tears the Galaxy apart, merely the mask it is. Cover the face, it does, of another war, a greater war—a war invisible to all but those who know the Force."

Sabé gaped at him.

"Decide the fate of all beings in the Galaxy, this great war in the Force will. On one side, the guardians of light; on the other, the bringers of darkness."

"I… I'm not sure I understand, Master Yoda…"

"Jedi warriors with lightsabers you see on the battlefields of the Galaxy. Greater battles, we Jedi fight, in the invisible arenas of the Force. Not lightsabers, our weapons there, but the power of will and heart and mind."

"What does this have to do with…"

Master Yoda's ears went even flatter. "A powerful warrior Anakin Skywalker is, both above and below. The power to sway the course of the war between Light and Dark, he has."

Sabé frowned while she tried to puzzle out what the old Jedi was going on about. "But he isn't doing what you want him to do, is he?" she suggested at last. "You're afraid he's going to come down on the other side of this… this "invisible" war you speak of."

Master Yoda's beamed at her. There was no other way to describe it. He beamed at her. Sabé felt warmed through and through.

"What if he doesn't choose either side?" She asked curiously. "What if he were to simply …disappear?

The Jedi looked at one another again and Master Yoda's ears drooped in a way that made Sabé's heart sink. The feeling of warmth vanished. Master Windu looked down at his hands. With an expression of infinite sadness on his weathered face Master Yoda slowly shook his head.

That was all. He shook his head.

Sabé went hollow inside. It was the kind of quiet, dead feeling that precedes a storm of emotion.

"Leave them alone!" she hissed. "Just leave them alone!"

"I'm afraid," Master Windu said quietly, "that is something we cannot do."

Sabé jumped to her feet. "How dare you…" she began, when Master Yoda suddenly raised his hand and she broke off, compelled to silence.

"Quickly, Miss Marterre," Windu asked, "can you tell us what you plan to do with young Dellia?"

"What?" Sabé was momentarily derailed by the sudden change in topic. "Why do you care what happens to her?"

"We feel responsible for her wellbeing," Windu said carefully. The child she carries …the father was a Jedi. A powerful Jedi."

Before Sabé could respond her peripheral vision caught a sense of movement. Master Yoda had left the door open, and there stood Dellia, looking not a little amazed by the people in the room.

"Come in, Dellia," Master Windu said kindly. "Don't be frightened."

Dellia obediently slipped just inside the room, eyeing Sabé warily, but didn't come any closer.

"Is all well, child?" Windu asked her, sounding a lot nicer than when he was speaking to Sabé.

"Yes, thank you," Dellia said carefully, her eyes never leaving Sabé.

"Well, Miss Marterre?" Windu said again. "What is your verdict?"

Sabé frowned at the cowering girl and then studied the Jedi, who both looked perfectly serene. "Dellia will have to return to Naboo, of course," she said coldly. "Her employment will be terminated." She turned to stare at the girl. "No one will ever hire her for a position of confidence again."

Dellia let out a small gasp and her hands flew to her mouth.

_Stupid girl._ _What did she expect? Flowers and kisses?_

"We would like to propose an alternative," Master Windu said with composure. "We would like to offer Dellia a place to stay here at the Temple until her child is born."

Dellia dropped her hands and her jaw at the same time, looking from Master Windu to Sabé and back again. Master Yoda sat peacefully in the middle of the scene like a benign little statue.

Sabé recovered first. "Once Dellia's employment is terminated, she will be free to do as she wishes. For now, she has some work to finish and she owes me a debriefing." She marched over to the stunned girl, who flinched. Sabé took her arm took her arm as one would a child's. "Come along, Dellia. It's time to go."

Sabé couldn't wait to get out of that room and away from those intransigent, self-satisfied Jedi.

"Dellia," Windu said firmly. "You have a choice. You may return to the Temple at any time, where you will receive our protection."

When Dellia opened her mouth to say something, Sabé shoved her toward the door.

"Not while she is still employed by Senator Amidala!" Sabé barked, pulling the shocked girl into the foyer toward the grand doors and to the outside world. Sabé was shaking a little, with fury and with fear. In the middle of the foyer her steps slowed and then stopped. Dellia looked at her searchingly.

"Wait here," Sabé ordered, letting go of her arm, and marched back across the foyer to step back inside the small room one more time. The two Jedi Masters looked up silently as she re-entered.

"Long ago I took an oath to protect Senator Amidala's life with my own. That oath still stands; it has only grown stronger through friendship. I will not tolerate any interference in her life or anything that compromises her safety and happiness. Look at me carefully, gentlemen, because I'm the person you'll have to kill to get to her."

Neither Jedi replied.

Disgusted, Sabé turned away from them once and for all, caught up with Dellia, who had remained frozen in place, and hauled the girl out to the landing platform where their air taxi still waited.

This time Dellia didn't look away from her. All the way back to the Senate offices Dellia watched Sabé with a self-satisfied little smile on her face. Sabé stood it as long as she could, and then finally lost the last shreds of her patience.

"What are you so happy about?" she growled.

"The Jedi are more powerful than you are," Dellia said smugly, "and they care about me. They care about what happens to me. You can't touch me, because I'll just go to them."

Tired, irritated and thoroughly fed up with Jedi caginess and arrogance and their quasi-mystical double talk, Sabé turned on her.

"You obviously know where babies come from, Dellia," she said nastily. "But have you ever considered where new Jedi come from, since they don't generally mate?"

Delia looked genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"

Sabé shook her head wearily. "Think about it, you stupid girl," she growled, turning way to look out the window. "Just think about it."

x

As soon as she had returned with Dellia to the Naboo Delegation offices and set the now pensive girl to work, Sabé retreated into her own office and spent a long time triple-encrypting a holotransmission to Captain Typho. Praying that the Naboo ship wasn't still in hyperspace, she waited tensely for the connection. When his familiar, trusted image appeared before her she once again felt the sting of tears.

_That's the second time today, _she thought, pushing them back, _I really have to stop this._

"What news?" he asked tersely.

"The worst. It needs to happen now – even before you arrive on Naboo. There is no time to waste."

"Are you certain?"

Sabé understood very well that the good Captain wasn't questioning her judgment. He merely needed a moment to come to terms with the finality of what they were about to do – just as she had, when the need for the decision had become clear.

"It's urgent," Sabé said gently. "She must die right away, and the child with her. It seems… it seems that children of powerful Jedi are a valuable commodity."

"By the gods…" even over the none-too-stable transmission, Typho sounded horrified.

"I know." Sabé began to rub her face and then stopped when she encountered her long-forgotten whiskers.

"What are you going to do now?" Typho asked.

"I'll finish up here. Wait for the news. Then I'll return home for the funeral."

"And after?" he asked after a long pause.

Sabé wiped away a few errant tears. "I'm going to find her," she said simply.

"I'll go with you," Typho said.

Sabé smiled through her tears. "I hoped you would."

"See you on Naboo," the Captain said crisply, and ended the transmission.

x

Masters Windu and Yoda stared at the point from which Amidala's fiery handmaiden had stormed out with Dellia in tow. A contemplative, expectant silence descended on the small meeting room. The sudden flash of the small message light on the table at his side roused Master Windu. He surveyed the message briefly.

"Is it he?" Master Yoda asked.

Master Windu's eyes flicked briefly toward the message light. "Not yet. It is the Healers' report."

"The young woman's child," Master Yoda asked before his companion could sink back into silent contemplation. "When is it expected?

"The healers say that it is strong and developing well. Those that are strong with the Force often arrive early. Perhaps in two standard months' time."

"Remain in touch with the young woman, you must." Master Yoda shifted on his chair.

"Very effective, Palpatine's campaign of mistrust has become. Dying, trust in the Jedi is."

In a woefully short period of time, the number of families willing to envision the life of a Jedi for their Force-sensitive children to the Jedi Order had fallen to almost none.

"Agreed."

The Jedi Masters returned to their thoughtful interregnum.

How quickly the prestige of the Order had plummeted. It hadn't taken battles. It had taken whispers.

How quickly its numbers were falling.

One after the other, with relentless regularity, Jedi Knights – the best and brightest of the Order – were perishing in combat and in circumstances in which one would not have expected a Jedi to suffer defeat. Many had died in mysterious incidents, brought about by inexplicable events. Each death had obliterated a singular treasure – an irreplaceable masterpiece of painstakingly accumulated knowledge, skill and wisdom. Each death had added immeasurably to the burden of suffering carried by every Jedi that remained behind to fight on.

How sorely the dead were missed.

The more decimated the Jedi Order became, the more battles that still awaited them – terrible battles. The responsibilities of the Order had not diminished. And it seemed that in very short order, the greatest battle the Jedi would face would arrive at their gates.

The message light flashed again. Master Windu checked the source, nodded at Master Yoda, and then reached over to activate the holotransmitter.

After a short period of static caused by the heavy encryption, the bluish light resolved into the reassuringly sturdy form of Obi-Wan Kenobi. "I haven't much time on this transmission, Masters," he said.

"Understood, Obi-Wan," Master Windu said quickly. Master Yoda moved closer.

"By all accounts the Separatist incursion has been unstoppable," Obi-Wan began. "The last of the Colonies have fallen; the Corellia system feels the threat acutely." He spoke calmly and clearly, even as he delivered catastrophic news. "Senator Bel Iblis demands that we provide additional troop placements in the sector."

"From the Jedi, he demands them," Yoda reflected thoughtfully. "Not from the Supreme Chancellor."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Bel Iblis is certain that Palpatine intends to sacrifice the Corellia system as punishment for its neutrality."

"Unerringly, the incursion pushes in the direction of the Corellia system, Protected, it is not. Agree, I do, with Bel Iblis' assessment."

"There is one particularly puzzling thing," Obi-Wan pointed out. "A massive Republic task Force led by the i_Victorious/i _has been positioned at the edge of Corellian space for some time. It lies directly in the path of the CIS invasion forces."

"Positioned?" Master Yoda's eyes were heavily lidded as though he was only half there."Yet taking action, it is not?"

"No. It is just sitting there, Master."

"For some time, you say?"

"Since just before Anakin left for Esh-Col. It's still there. It has not been deployed, even though the fighting is heavy and the Republic forces are being systematically beaten back."

"Skywalker has not returned to Nowhere, then?" Mace broke in.

"Not yet, Master Windu. But V'ar reports that he expects to arrive shortly with reinforcements for Nowhere."

"Dispersed by now, Nowhere should be." Master Yoda frowned. "If abandoned by the Republic, the Corellia system is, needed to defend the citizens any additional fighting forces will be."

"We have tried, Master, but it has proven impossible in the time available. As quickly as we send refugees to alternate locations, more show up to take their places. We have abandoned all efforts to disperse them for the moment and instead, are working to form as many of the refugees and equipment as we can into a defensive force. Bel Iblis is seeing to it that we are provided with weapons, although at this point we do not yet have enough."

"Given your position, Obi-Wan, it seems that Nowhere will be the Corellian system's first line of defense."

"We believe that to be the case, Master. If the cloaking shields continue to hold, we will have the advantage of surprise, but it is a small one at best. Nowhere cannot survive a protracted battle."

Master Yoda nodded, his eyes almost closed. "Coming soon, the One Point is. Sooner, perhaps, than we realize."

Master Windu responded to Yoda's chilling observation by proposing action. "Hold your position, Obi-Wan, and continue your preparations. We will send you reinforcements."

Yoda turned and stared.

"Understood, Master," Obi-Wan said as the holo-image began to flicker. "I have to go…" the image winked out abruptly.

Mace returned Yoda's stare.

"Take up an irreversible political position we would," Yoda said carefully, "if divert Republic resources to Corellia, we do."

Mace's eyes didn't waver. "By the time this war ends, one way or another, there might not be enough Jedi remaining to take up a position of any kind – political or otherwise."

Yoda's ears flattened. "Propose, you do, that the Jedi chart a new path."

"What future do you foresee if we remain on our current path?" Mace asked somberly. "For the Jedi Order, but also for the Galaxy?"

Yoda closed his eyes, drawing several silent breaths before answering. "Depends, it does, on many streams of possibility, many possible actions and decisions…"

"…which, as you say, are coming together in the One Point."

Yoda scrunched up his face. "Discuss this, the Council must."

"Very well. I will call the Council together." Mace marched to the door, continuing to speak without a backward glance. "My participation in the meeting will take place en route from the bridge of the _Leviathan."_

"Deploying to the Duro system, the _Leviathan _and her battle group are," Yoda replied sternly, but with the beginning of a twinkle in his eyes. "And Master Reeven's command, that is."

Mace paused at the door and turned. "I'm sure Master Reeven won't mind me stepping in," he said, unperturbed. "Perhaps the Corellians will give us permission to shorten our journey to Duro by crossing through Corellian neutral space. Just this once."

Master Yoda's eyes gleamed with something almost... mischievous. "Ask the Corellians, I will, for this permission."

Master Windu nodded. "If the Council disagrees with my proposal, I will simply continue on to Duro and carry out the _Leviathan's _mission."

"Will you?" Yoda murmured sagely. "Will you, indeed?"

Staring down at Yoda, Mace merely observed, "Either way, there is no time to waste." He inclined his head politely in farewell and headed out of the small meeting the room into the foyer beyond. The lone Jedi guard stood in respect as he approached.

"May the Force be with us all," Master Yoda muttered, watching Master Windu's broad back and determined stride as he crossed the foyer and disappeared into the vast corridors beyond.

The small message light flashed once again – unexpectedly this time. Master Yoda waved the door by which Master Windu had left closed while he hobbled over to activate the transmitter.

A brief message flashed before his eyes.

He read it again.

And again.

Leaning heavily on his stick, Yoda gazed into the unknown distance for a long, long time.

x

The moment he heard the news, Aeron tumbled into Viceroy Organa's office with it, only to find his normally supremely unflappable employer and mentor slumped at his desk with his face buried in his hands.

From the looks of him, the Viceroy had somehow received the news already.

Not wishing to disturb him, Aeron backed out of the inner office quietly and followed his second impulse. Seconds later he was pelting down the corridor toward the Naboo Delegation offices.

He found them nearly deserted but for a few of the clerical staff. Dellia was nowhere to be found. Small wonder. She must be devastated. Perhaps she had gone somewhere to be alone…

Aeron left the Naboo Delegation offices without an immediate destination in mind. It didn't take long for a third impulse to send him hurrying down to the service level where the various Senate refectories and dining halls clustered around a massive observation deck. Even though it was long past midday, the smells of food lingered in the corridors, making his stomach growl audibly. He hadn't had a chance to stop for his midday meal.

Ignoring his hunger pangs, Aeron searched systematically through one dining facility after another. It didn't take him long. He spotted Dellia in one of the smaller dining halls where the two of them had recently shared several enjoyable midday meals. She was sitting alone at a small table littered with a few dishes. Hurrying toward her, he noticed that she seemed to be staring at nothing in particular. He slowed. _The poor girl_, he kept thinking. _The poor girl._

"Dellia?" he asked cautiously when he came up beside her. She jumped slightly. She must have been far away in her thoughts.

"Oh, Aeron!" she smiled weakly. "I'm surprised to see you here at this time."

"Well," he said cautiously, "under the circumstances, I wondered… I mean, I thought you might… you might need a friend." He slid almost apologetically into the seat opposite her. "I came looking for you."

Dellia's eyes reflected puzzlement, and oddly, alarm. "Under the circumstances?" she asked somewhat sharply.

"Well, yes." Without even thinking about it, he reached for her hand. "It is devastating news. I'm so sorry." Intent on finding just the right words to say to her, he hardly noticed her quick little intake of breath. He only noticed the sudden tension in her warm fingers. "If there is anything I can to do help…"

He looked up to find Dellia staring at him with a look of genuine incomprehension on her face.

"Aeron, how do you know about my discussions with the Jedi? I have told no one, no one at all!"

"The Jedi?" Aeron got a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't been talking about the Jedi, not at all… "I was talking about Senator Amidala…"

Dellia still looked confused.

…_Oh, no,_ he thought, _how could she not know? I shouldn't be the one to tell her…_

"Aeron? What is it?"

"The message just arrived," he said, feeling horribly inadequate. "Just now. I thought you knew… I thought you _must_ know… about Senator Amidala's death…"

"_What?"_

He clutched her now limp hand more tightly. "Senator Amidala died on the way to Naboo, Dellia," he repeated gently. "She never made it home."

The girl's face went white. She stared at him. "How is that possible? What happened? She was in perfect health when she left with the Refugee Outreach Alliance!"

Aeron shrugged. "The message that was sent out to the Senate didn't go into much detail. It said only that her pregnancy had been difficult and the shock of her husband's death was apparently too much for her." He bit his lip before adding the last part of the news, and squeezed Dellia's hand even harder. "The child died with her."

Dellia placed her free hand over her own rounded stomach in what, to Aeron, looked like an instinctive gesture. She seemed to be looking far away somewhere; or perhaps she was turned entirely inward. He couldn't tell from the glazed look in her eyes. "I didn't even know that she was pregnant," she murmured at last. "They didn't even tell me _that_."

"I don't think many knew," he offered. "Certainly not in the Senate."

Dellia didn't look at him. She seemed sunken into herself.

"Does this mean that you'll be leaving?" he asked after a while. "Surely you will go home for the funeral. But… do you think that you will come back to Coruscant after that?"

Dellia's eyes refocused on him. In them he saw only confusion.

"I don't know." She stared down at her hand, intermingled with his own. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. "I don't know what to do."

"I'll tell you what," Aeron said firmly, following yet another impulse. "I'll take you back to your office to collect your things, and then I'll see you home."

Dellia nodded, looking faintly relieved.

Keeping hold of her hand, he guided her out of the dining hall and along the corridor toward the nearest bank of lifts.

"What was that about the Jedi?" he asked suddenly, as they stood in silence, waiting for one to arrive.

"Nothing," Dellia said quickly, not meeting his eyes. "Nothing at all."

x

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine received the news in complete silence. It had arrived in the middle of a meeting with the semi-hysterical Senators from the star systems that were being systematically overrun by CIS forces in the course of the Separatists' seemingly inexorable push toward the Galaxy's core.

The message had been transmitted to him by Dar Wac despite his standing order that no messages were to be sent through while he was in a meeting. A transgression like that necessitated his immediate attention. Thus Palpatine had learned, in the middle of a rant by the Senator to the Osarian system, of the death of Senator Amidala of Naboo…

…and of the death of her child.

The meeting ended almost immediately.

Once he was alone again, he sat in perfect stillness for a long time – until the light outside had changed to the burnt amber of early evening, in fact – staring at the bowl of firestones, but not touching it.

When he finally roused, he transmitted a message to the Military Governor on Naboo. Then he sent another much more heavily encoded message to the Captain of the _Victorious_.

That done, he went to deal with Dar Wac.


	33. Chapter 32 Precipice

**Chapter 32.** **Precipice**

Some time in the very early dawn on Esh-Col, a bright light streaked through the atmosphere in a graceful arc. Caught by the not yet visible rays of the rising sun, it looked so much like a falling star that far away in the Refugee settlement, an old woman who had not slept all night made a wish on it.

What happened to that wish is not recorded.

The object, however, was not a miracle of nature; it followed a purposeful, well-calculated trajectory. Near the horizon, out of sight of the inhabited places, it slowed and turned south to follow the chain of craggy hills that circled the small planet's mid-zone. Coming to a stop over a particular plateau atop a wide, high butte, it hovered briefly and then disappeared altogether.

The camouflaged hangar doors already had closed again by the time the starfighter rolled to a stop and cut its engines. A pale blue Twi'lek leaped out of the cockpit and sprinted toward the far side of the hangar where a huge transport ship was being loaded with crates and bundles. Before she was halfway across the vast space a tall figure dressed in swathes of tan and brown stepped out from behind the transport as though he had known precisely when she would arrive.

As, of course, he had. He had sent her out among the stars in the first place, away from Esh-Col's communications-stifling magnetic fields, to learn the news from the front.

Seeing him, she slowed to a trot. "It's bad," she said shortly as soon as she was within earshot. "It's worse than we thought." Several people nearby stopped what they were doing and sidled closer to listen.

"Go on."

She came to a stop right in front of him, in order to speak with him not only eye to eye, but also heart to heart.

"The Separatist invasion force is vast, swift and so far, unstoppable. It moves as a trident, not a spear; each forward push takes place on three fronts simultaneously, dividing and decimating Republican defense forces with every engagement."

More people gathered around, hanging on her every word. "The Colonies have fallen. She glanced around at her spellbound audience. "The Core Worlds are next."

A murmur arose – a jumble of anger and fear.

"All available Republic forces are being deployed to the Duro System, but so far, it appears that Corellia is being left to fend for itself."

Another murmur – anger was overpowering fear. "Duro! That shares a border with the Corellia System!"

V'ar looked around at the small crowd that enclosed them in a ragged circle. The man in tan and brown – the man to whom she reported – had not said a word yet. She looked back into his eyes and went on.

"The likely entry point for the first CIS push is through the empty space just beyond Corellia's Outlier System. Based on the pattern of their attacks on other star systems, they seem to go straight for the most populated planets in each system they hit, brushing aside any obstacles they encounter on the way. If they follow the same tactic, they're likely to run straight through…

…"Nowhere," Anakin said quietly.

"Yes."

"The shields?"

"Irrelevant. So far they're still working, but invisibility shielding doesn't protect against firepower. Besides, the shield generators aren't protected. They'll be put out of commission very quickly. A stray blast or two…"

"… the shields are not irrelevant," Anakin insisted, just as quietly. "If the Separatists don't know about Nowhere …"

V'ar shook her head. "You know as well as I do that it can't be hidden if you're right on top of it."

Anakin frowned. V'ar could practically feel him thinking. The Force rippled off him in waves. "There is more than one way to use invisibility – if not to hide, then for surprise to cover your escape…"

V'ar bit back a grin which she felt was inappropriate under the circumstances. _Ah, the similarities in their thinking…_ "Obi-Wan came to the same conclusion. They were unable to break up Nowhere and to disperse it in time, so he is now working to form the people and whatever ships are suitable into a first-line defensive force. He is counting on the surprise factor…"

Anakin shook his head. "It won't be enough. It's a desperate move."

"He knows that." V'ar's inner grin vanished. "He has no choice."

Anakin crossed his arms and dropped his eyes. "When?" he asked, stubbing the toe of his heavy boot against the hangar's durasteel floor.

"Soon. Now. Any time."

V'ar noticed that the people nearest them had all fallen silent, as with a giant intake of breath. The dull thud of Anakin's boot toe on the floor was the loudest sound she heard… until he looked up again and yelled, in a pitch that carried all the way to the far end of the hangar, "Bram! Where is that convoy from the settlement?"

His cry was a whipcrack, spurring everyone in the hangar into instant, frenzied action. The people who had gathered around to hear V'ar's news leaped back to their tasks, mostly that of loading cargo onto the transport. Feet thundered against the floor as the surge of activity crossed the hangar like a wave. Pilots ran to their starfighters. Cargo ships and the fast mid-size transporters were rolled out of the shadows and lined up in position. Lacking enough loader droids, human chains tossed payloads from hand to hand as though they weighed no more than flimsiplast.

Bram, meanwhile, came sprinting in Anakin's direction. "The convoy is on its way, Boss. Should be here any minute now."

"Get the team leaders organized and ready as soon as they arrive. I want to get the people onto the transports in double time."

"Sure, Boss." Bram dashed off again. Double time.

V'ar backed away. "I should get ready…"

"V'ar?"

She paused, searching Anakin's face. There was something in his eyes – something behind his calm, decisive exterior. It looked…it seemed… it _felt _like a plea.

"Don't go far," he ordered, and then to V'ar's surprise he added almost hesitantly, "I'm going to need you."

"I'll be here." She searched his face one more time, looking for… what? Hope? Answers? The possibility of a miracle? _Stop it,_ she berated herself. _Chosen One or no, he is only one man. He can only do so much. Our fate rests in our own hands as well as in his._

He nodded once – a quick, almost self-conscious gesture – and turned away from her to deal with the people who assaulted him from all sides, needing immediate directions and decisions.

V'ar watched the scene for a moment, abstracting it in her mind to a set of patterns and vectors. As busy and chaotic as the activity in the hangar appeared, Anakin was the center around which it all revolved. When he moved, it had the effect of shifting the hangar's axis. When he stopped, the small world regrouped around him. When he spoke, everyone listened. When he faltered…

… but he hadn't faltered yet. Not once.

V'ar headed toward the far corner of the hangar where she had stored the few belongings she had retrieved from her cave on the next plateau. By the time she had stowed them in her starfighter, overseen its refueling and run her final flight checks, Bram's prophecy had come true. The convoy of refugees from the Settlements – the families of the Pilots, and the vast numbers of men, women and children who were not connected with the Pilots but who had decided to leave Esh-Col with them – had arrived and begun to offload passengers, one vehicle at a time.

V'ar checked her chrono. They had calculated that it would take the entire day to shuttle all the people to the giant transports that orbited above. Even if Anakin succeeded in getting it done "double time," there were still many hours of work ahead.

She finished the final weapons check on her starfighter and moved on to make sure that the other fighter pilots did the same. That done, she watched as the seemingly endless stream of passengers boarded one shuttle after another. The vast hangar doors overhead remained wide open as ship after ship lifted off straight up into the hazy sky and quickly disappeared. It wouldn't be long before the first shuttle returned, only to begin the cycle again.

V'ar wondered whether she should offer her services to help the process along. Although she and Anakin had spent long, grueling days planning the logistics of the admittedly preposterous scheme to bring civilians along on what ought to be a strictly military mission, management of the refugee families had been left to the locals while he and V'ar focused all of their time and energy on the military side of the venture.

But today was all about speed and efficiency.

Maybe they could use another shuttle pilot…

V'ar climbed on top of her starfighter to look for Anakin, and spotted him easily in the midst of the civilian passengers who waited in orderly rows for assignment to a shuttle.

Even though he was dressed just like everyone else, he stood out. Not only was he invariably the focus of everyone's attention – faces were always turned his way – but also, there was something about him that kept people at a respectful distance even when they sought him out. There was always a little space around Anakin that separated him from the others.

V'ar was about to hail him when she realized that Anakin was searching for someone; she sensed a restlessness in him, an inner abstraction that hadn't been evident when they were discussing the battle ahead. While all those around him were noticeably focused on him, Anakin's focus – his _being_ – was clearly elsewhere. As settlers continued to stream into the hangar he seemed to be trying to make his way outside, toward the convoy.

Suddenly he broke into a run, and somehow the crowd parted ahead of him, clearing the path to…

Of course.

_Amidala._

Her presence shone through the Force.

When Anakin finally reappeared in the hangar Amidala was by his side. Despite her artful attempts to look ordinary – her dark hair was dressed simply, like a peasant woman's, and she wore the same rough clothing as all the other refugee women – her entrance was greeted by ripples of interest and anticipation. Pressed close to Anakin, his arm protectively curled around her shoulders, she received the same respectful attention as he. If Anakin was king here among the pilots and the refugees, then Amidala once again was queen.

It seemed to be her nature.

Without warning V'ar felt herself caught, as if by a bright beam of light. She looked down onto the busy hangar floor again to see Anakin looking straight at her, and gesturing that she should come down.

It seemed it was time to go back to work. Good.

She slid quickly down the starfighter's curved metallic side, jumped lightly to the ground, and drew up beside them in a few swift strides. Amidala greeted her with a smile, Anakin with a snapped order.

"I want you to turn your starfighter over to someone else. I need you elsewhere."

_What? _V'ar was utterly baffled. She and Anakin had trained hard together – they were the lead team in the squadron. Their skilled leadership was absolutely essential to the fledgling fighting group. _Their_ leadership. Together…

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Padmé is going to travel on the small transport with the support teams." He waved toward the huge cruiser at the far end of the hangar, which was barely a fifth the size of the ones that were being loaded in space. His voice softened. "I want you there with her."

Amidala glanced quickly at Anakin and frowned, but she said nothing. V'ar looked from one to the other, and suddenly understood. The squadron and its mission were important, but Amidala's safety was paramount to Anakin. If he was going to pull off a miracle, he would need peace of mind to do it.

"Of course," V'ar agreed quickly, irrationally and excessively cheered by her sudden realization. Anakin's decision to sacrifice V'ar's skills and experience with the squadron in favor of Amidala's safety meant, in all probability, that he had accepted his role as miracle-worker.

He was heading into the fight of his life.

Of course V'ar would stand by Amidala. She would stand by her with all her heart and soul and might, if it meant that Anakin was willing to fight – to _really_ fight.

_Protect Amidala, _the Force, in all its mystery, had told her. _Protect Amidala at all costs._

Feeling overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur of the Force and the _rightness_ of the events that were unfolding before them all, V'ar had to fight a quick inner battle to regain her accustomed equanimity.

"This changes a few things," she pointed out sternly, to cover her un-Jedi-like surge of emotion. "Specifically, communications." In planning their venture, Anakin and V'ar had agreed that the starfighters would be allowed to communicate with one another, but the transports would travel absolutely dark. Among other things, that meant no communications of any kind between transport ships or between the transports and the starfighters. While V'ar accepted her role in traveling with and protecting Amidala, she didn't like the scenario in which they both would be entirely cut off from Anakin.

"I know," he frowned. Evidently he understood her concerns perfectly. They stood in silence for a moment, puzzling about the problem.

All at once, a look came over Anakin's face that utterly transformed it – a look of brightness, of inspiration. His frown disappeared, replaced by an almost roguish grin. Both V'ar and Amidala stared at him.

"Would you excuse us, please?" he said politely to V'ar – far more politely than he was in the habit of speaking to her. "We need a moment."

V'ar merely nodded and watched them retreat to the far side of the hangar, where they soon disappeared behind the laden transport ship.

x

"Well?" Padmé said at last, when Anakin had pulled her into the darkest, emptiest corner he could find. It had been hard to find such a corner; fortunately, the simple good manners of the people around them ensured a modicum of privacy. "What is it?'

Anakin was beaming like a child who had just been given a grand gift. It seemed that he couldn't stop grinning. It made Padmé smile too – his joy was irresistible. She was smiling like an idiot and she had no idea why.

"Anakin, what is going on?" she laughed.

He took her by the shoulders and rested his forehead gently, ever so gently, against hers.

"I have been waiting so long for this," he murmured. "For the right time. If this isn't the right time, I don't know what is."

"Anakin, for the love of creation, what are you talking about?"

"Close your eyes," he urged.

"Anakin…"

"Please. Just close your eyes."

She complied. There was no use resisting Anakin when he got an idea in his head. And he called _her_ stubborn…

She felt a brief flash of pain in her head, and an unsettling sense of expansion, of brightness… she flinched from the suddenness of the experience, and felt Anakin's hands holding her securely by the shoulders.

_Shhhh…._he said. _It's all right. It will be all right. _

She relaxed into his touch, remembering to breathe, when suddenly she startled again and her eyes flew open as she realized …

…he hadn't said those words. Well, he had, but she had heard them in her head…

_Anakin!_

Anakin's eyes gazed into hers, shining with undisguised delight. _I've missed talking to you this way, Padmé. I've missed it so much…_

She threw herself at him, reached up to grasp his neck in a stranglehold, and heedless of the mounded belly that was squashed between them, pressed herself against him as if she could climb inside of him; merge her body with his as they had once again merged in their minds_... Oh, so have I, so have I so have I…_

_I'm sorry it hurt; I had to work fast…are you all right?_

_I'm fine, I'm perfect, _she laughed in her mind, and he laughed with her, inside her mind, inside the private world that no one else could share.

How she had missed hearing his voice in her mind! It felt as though... as though she was holding him safely inside of her heart.

Anakin pulled back a little from their fierce embrace, and looked into her eyes. His face was alight with happiness. _You are now the official communications officer for the transports. Can you handle that?_

Padmé grinned mischievously. _As long as you don't distract me the way you used to do, I'll be just fine. _The more she spoke to him in her mind, the more comfortable she became with the process. It was all coming back to her.

Anakin's smile faded a little. _It's time to go… _She could feel his raw disappointment. What a time it was to have regained such joy…

For his sake, Padmé smiled. _It's all right, Anakin. Everything will be all right. We will do what we have to do, and then we will be free forever…_

The kiss that followed was so passionate, and lingered so long, that all the people who were working nearby deemed it polite to hide their smiles and to look away.

x

"Well," Captain Wilhuf Tarkin said aloud into his empty private quarters. He straightened his shoulders as though he could perfect his already ramrod-straight posture. "Well," he said again, for emphasis, and thanked his lucky stars that patience had won out over the almost intolerable frustration of the past weeks.

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine had warned him that his task of waiting on the sidelines would be 'counter to the instincts of a soldier.' It had been far worse than that. It had proven nearly unbearable to hold back the Republic's premiere battle group while the Separatist invaders moved closer and closer, swallowing one star system after another. The _Victorious_ and her task force – the finest in the Republic, Tarkin was sure – hovered directly in the path of that invasion, and yet he had been required to hold his position, without further information or orders, until the Separatists were nearly upon them. And all the while, the clandestine activity in the Outlier sector had increased openly and unmolested on the other side of that inviolable border of the so-called 'neutral' Star System of Corellia.

It had been insufferable.

Being forced to wait and watch had many times pushed Tarkin to the very brink of his tolerance. How easy it would have been, even without the new data provided by the recent upsurge in illegal activity, to cross that damnable invisible line into Corellia, to smash whatever the Corellians were up to, and to return to beat back the encroaching droid armies before they advanced any further!

But he hadn't. He had refrained. He had followed orders, like a good soldier should.

_Patience._ Tarkin smiled inwardly. _Lesson learned._

His struggle was about to be rewarded, in the way that the suffering of every good soldier who has the good fortune to stand on the side of victory is rewarded – with honor and glory.

The _honor_ was the prospect of serving one of the greatest tactical minds of all time.

And the glory… the _glory _would be to bask in that man's gratitude, and the recognition that was sure to follow…

Tarkin closed his eyes and allowed himself a single, long shiver of pleasure – just one – before he pushed himself away from the secure holo-communicator in his private quarters and headed for the _Victorious'_ bridge.

_Patience, _he reflected on the way. _Patience is as powerful a weapon as any other tool of war. _With conscious gratitude to the man who had taught him this valuable lesson – the man whom he admired and revered as no other – Captain Tarkin strode onto his bridge with a measured step and an inscrutable face that hid his inner delight.

His openly curious Executive Officer was at his side immediately, but the man had the discretion not to ask about his Captain's private communication with the Supreme Chancellor. Instead he offered news. It was not as good as the news Tarkin had just received from his revered mentor, but it certainly added to the lightness of his mood.

"This way, Captain." Tarkin's second in command indicated the tactical pit. "The Corellians have completed their defense emplacements. We have the complete map onscreen."

"Indeed." Tarkin followed his XO to the huge grid display that covered a whole side of the tactical pit. He studied it soberly, and refrained from smiling. "Indeed," he murmured again.

"Also, Sir," the man continued with barely suppressed glee, "we now have full information on a large flotilla of vessels bearing down on the reinforced area from the far side of the Outlier system." He nodded to the tactical officer and the map shifted to show a surprisingly large convoy of vessels that appeared to be coming from the direction of…

"… Esh-Col," Tarkin observed.

"Yes, Sir. Just as we had surmised. The planet seems to have been hiding a great deal of covert activity."

Tarkin studied the data on the ships. There was a respectful, expectant silence while his officers waited for their Captain's response. Many of the ships were new model Corellian warships. Oddly, though, they were interspersed with ordinary and curiously mismatched vessels of all kinds and sizes. They were the sorts of ships that belonged to…

_Ah._

"Civilians," he remarked disdainfully. Inwardly, his smile grew wider.

"Yes, Sir. They do not appear to be fleeing the coming invasion, however. They are moving toward the blockaded sector."

Tarkin did not comment. There was no need, now that at last… at _long_ last… he was in a position to issue specific orders. The best kind of orders.

The orders to act… within the larger plan, of course… _at his own discretion_.

x

With his red-rimmed eyes, slumped shoulders, and the unaccustomed gravel in his voice, Garm Bel Iblis was the veritable picture of the crushing fatigue that Obi-Wan continuously fought off within himself. Seeing the effects of the last few desperate days so perfectly pictured in the Corellian Senator made Obi-Wan's private struggle twice as difficult.

It felt as though the two of them carried the destiny of a whole Star System on their shoulders.

Perhaps they did.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to rub his eyes, and instead focused on the tactical display that shimmered before him.

He hadn't meditated often enough or deeply enough recently; that was all. There hadn't been time. He simply had to struggle on without that respite, that restorative summoning of strength and assurance.

Standing shoulder to shoulder on the bridge of the sleek Corellian battle cruiser _Intrepid,_ the lone Jedi in his rough robes and the stooped, no longer perfectly groomed Senator looked out of place in the midst of the sophisticated display consoles, the subtle lighting, and the crisply uniformed Corellian regulars who manned the ship. If either one had been inclined to dwell on such things, he might have thought the scene an appropriate allegory for the current state of affairs – two worn out, stubborn rebel warriors surrounded by the sleek and soulless machinery of war.

But Obi-Wan was not so inclined, and neither was Bel Iblis. The Senator was too busy worrying about the immediate future, while Obi-Wan was wholly absorbed in planning for it.

Never allowing his eyes to stray from the tactical display, Obi-Wan visualized the empty spaces outside of the viewscreen as they would soon appear – heaving with ships moving in a deadly dance with the soul purpose of destroying one another. He saw the flash of lasers, the vivid eruptions of flame that boiled into space with each successful hit, only to die out again quickly in the cold vacuum of space.

He saw approach angles, trajectories, escape routes. He saw fronts and flanks, strongholds and vulnerabilities, attack positions and their respective counters. He saw the coming battle, systematically played out move by move in his mind. With each envisioned scenario he made adjustments in the tactical display, with orders to follow. No matter how carefully he positioned his chak'la pieces, he knew what he was sure to see more than anything else.

He saw _death_.

"Cruiser _Pride of Talus_," Obi-Wan ordered into the comm. "Position your vessel at Sector 05, Mark 0002."

"Aye, Sir," came the crisp reply from one of the military vessels. "Moving to Sector 05, Mark 0002."

Replies from the non-military vessels represented on the tactical readout varied considerably, but they all had the characteristic of being…informal. "Understood," one might respond, when given a similar order; or even, "You got it, buddy!"

"Repeat order for confirmation, _Tagalog_," Obi-Wan might reply patiently to such a response. Once he was satisfied that the order had been understood he would move on to the next ship, and the tactical display would readjust with only a movement or two of his skilled fingers. How they communicated with him was unimportant. They were equal under his command now; the professionals and the amateurs, and he could only give orders, expecting… hoping, in some cases, that those orders would be followed.

Bel Iblis' attention, meanwhile, was fixed on a different display – the one that scanned the area of empty space behind the _Intrepid_. He wasn't fooled by the image of empty space produced by the scanners. Nowhere was still there, hidden behind the fragile screens that bent the light around it, but he knew that it was a vastly different place; less densely clustered, smaller, and growing smaller still. Nowhere was finally being dispersed, but not in a way anyone could have anticipated.

"Why is it that we can achieve in a crisis what we were unable to accomplish before?" he wondered out loud.

"The difference lies in the perceived threat," Obi-Wan remarked neutrally, without removing his eyes from the tactical display. "People don't voluntarily leave a place where they feel safe."

"It has never been safe," Bel Iblis grumbled. "If we'd gotten them to leave before this, they wouldn't be re-grouping around Corellia and the other inner-system worlds waiting for the onslaught. They'd be well out of here, and we wouldn't be using civilians as soldiers."

The symbols on the screen Bel Iblis was studying showed yet another small convoy of ships heading out of the cloaked area and toward the heart of the Corellia system. The most vulnerable among the refugees were being been sent away from the front lines to the Star System's capital planet. There was no point in hiding them any longer.

Of course, if the front lines failed…

"I wish it were otherwise." Bel Iblis said mournfully.

"We tried," Obi-Wan said shortly. _Oh, how we tried. _Aware of the frustration and regret that lurked behind the thought, he struggled to contain his errant emotions. _Perhaps if we'd had more help… if Anakin had shown up when he was supposed to… _wincing inwardly, he throttled the stray thoughts at once. _Jedi do not wish._ "Think of it this way," Obi-Wan said levelly. "In the face of invasion, when there is no one to fight on your behalf, there is no such thing as a civilian."

"We failed," Bel Iblis insisted.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes fixed on the tactical readouts and made another small adjustment to the data. "The refugees you sheltered are now the first line of defense for your star system. There is a certain symmetry in that, don't you think?"

"You call that symmetry, Jedi? I call it tragedy."

Obi-Wan made a series of corrections on the tactical screen.

"_Corellian Star_, adjust your position to Sector 4, Mark 004."

"Aye, General. Adjusting to Sector 4, Mark 004."

The pattern on the display grew a shade less symmetrical. Satisfied, Obi-Wan moved on to the next position.

"It's not an even distribution," Bel Iblis commented after studying the screen for a while.

"It can't be," Obi-Wan said patiently. "The distances between the ships are a function of their maneuverability, speed, and firepower."

"It looks like a net with big holes in it," Bel Iblis persisted.

Obi-Wan sighed audibly. "The larger, faster, better-armed ships can control larger areas of space."

"What are those?" Bel Iblis pointed to a bright cluster of symbols.

"A group of smaller ships acting together."

"That's a big hole they're covering."

"Tholians. Members of the same clan. They're well armed, maneuverable, and accustomed to working together."

"Hmph." Bel Iblis pointed to another corner of the display. "And what is …"

"Senator Bel Iblis!" Obi-Wan snapped. "I can explain every detail of our battle plan to you, or I can continue to position our defensive forces. Which would you prefer?"

With a withering sideways glare, the Corellian stopped talking, but he didn't go away. As Obi-Wan continued with his painstaking, exacting task, the Senator continued to breathe down his neck, as absorbed as Obi-Wan in the minute shifts in the geometry of the colossal grid that shimmered on the display.

When at last, at long last, Obi-Wan stepped back from the display and placed his hands behind his back, he was faintly amused to see that Bel Iblis mimicked his movement. Then he became absorbed in the display again: the plan for the defense of the Corellia system. His plan. He stared at it the points in the three-dimensional grid, the calculated lines of influence, the data summaries, and knew that it wasn't enough.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Ignoring Bel Iblis, dismissing the movements of the _Intrepid's_ bridge crew, the constant, low chatter of the comms., and every other possible distraction from his mind, he went inward. Far inward. Cut off from the information given to him by his eyes, he rebuilt the tactical screen, line for line, point for point, in his mind…

…only to erase it again, leaving himself open and prepared to receive whatsoever lay behind the three-dimensional data on the screen.

He turned himself over to the Force. Allowed it to fill him. Disappeared inside of it, while new images and patterns began to take shape in his awareness.

_The Force binds and connects all living things… _

It was difficult, as all his meditations had been difficult lately. Images would appear only to vanish before he could properly grasp them. Ideas and impressions flowed fitfully toward him, like rivulets of a stream escaping a dam. With all the patience that he could muster, Obi-Wan released his expectations, released his consciousness, and opened himself to whatever indications from the Force trickled his way.

There.

And there.

And … _there_.

When he opened eyes again to see Bel Iblis staring at him with a puzzled expression on his face, Obi-Wan knew three things he hadn't known before.

The immediate future had already morphed into the immediate present…

Anakin was on his way…

… and the persistent sense of creeping darkness that twisted the Force the way the shields around Nowhere bent the light, blocking the ability of the Jedi to see through it, was growing into an overwhelming presence. Cold. Dense. Almost nauseating in its touch.

"It is time," Obi-Wan said simply, keeping the worst of the news – the rapid approach of the darkness – to himself.

Bel Iblis gazed balefully at the irregular grid that still flickered on the tactical display map, and for once didn't seem to have anything to say.


	34. Chapter 33 Guardians of the Light

**Chapter 33. Guardians of Light**

"I don't like being this exposed."

It was V'ar's only comment after having silently stared out into space for close to a standard hour. Normally there was nothing to see this far into deep space; instruments were far more informative than viewscreens.

But the viewscreen of the light cruiser _Patriot _was alight with ships as far as the eye could see.

Anakin had made certain that his lead ship could not be identified by its position in the refugee flotilla. It remained hidden within the mass of disparate vessels flying in a formation unidentifiable to anyone who was not a part of the squadron.

"I know." Padmé leaned back in her seat on the _Patriot's_ bridge, making herself as comfortable as possible. She had occupied that seat since boarding, and had refused to leave it to rest or to find a more private place to wait out the nerve-wracking journey. Her two constant shadows, V'ar and Dormé, were never more than a few steps away from her. Dormé had settled herself patiently in the seat next to Padmé, while the Jedi stood like a sentinel: silent, tireless… and apparently, troubled.

Padmé understood as well as anyone that exposure of the fleet had become inevitable the moment the flotilla had left the protection of Esh-Col's magnetic field. She understood Anakin's decision to avoid a complicated multi-ship hyperspace jump – it would have left them without communications over a distance that was too short for a jump anyway. The only alternative was to send the flotilla toward Nowhere at sub-light speed, leaving it vulnerable to detection and attack sooner rather than later.

But they were on their way to war. Detection and attack were inevitable. They were as ready as they would ever be.

V'ar understood this, too – better, in fact, than anyone else among Anakin's followers; she had helped to plan every detail of their desperate journey.

Surely she wasn't afraid.

Padmé studied the still-mysterious Twi'lek Jedi who somehow had become her protector and companion. Every line and curve of V'ar's graceful form was in repose, from her lightly crossed arms, to the swell of her hip where it rested lightly against the bulkhead, to the lekku that for once hung straight and still down her strong back. But for all her stillness, the impression she gave was that of a coiled spring – stored energy that could be unleashed at the speed of thought.

No, V'ar was not afraid. Something else was bothering her – something that went deeper, perhaps.

A soft signal sounded and the pilot murmured, "That's the halfway mark. All is well."

V'ar didn't move or respond. Padmé shifted in her seat and immediately Dormé's hand found hers.

"Are you all right?"

"Perfectly, thank you." Padmé gave Dormé's hand a reassuring squeeze. She was all right. She was better than all right. Even now, in the face of battle, she had never felt stronger or surer of her purpose. Padmé of Esh-Col was a very different woman from the precious painted Queen of the Naboo or the conflicted Galactic Senator who had tried to be all things to all people. Padmé of Esh-Col was a woman whose doubts at last had been resolved, whose conscience was clear, and whose heart was alight with the promise of the future, like a young girl's.

She was poised on the threshold of a life that was hers alone.

_All is well,_ Anakin's voice echoed the pilot's in Padmé's head. And then: _Hang on; Bram and I are flying a survey circuit. _

Before Padmé could relay the message, two parallel streaks of light appeared in the viewscreen, heading straight toward them. V'ar straightened instantly, as did the pilots.

"Survey circuit," Padmé announced immediately, and the pilots relaxed, although V'ar didn't.

The streaks resolved themselves into small fighters. One, a somewhat battered H-Wing, veered off to the right, skimming some invisible outer perimeter of the clustered ships. The other kept coming straight toward them, until its distinctive shape and markings were clearly visible. Anakin had spent every spare minute on Esh-Col adapting a bright yellow and maroon prototype Naboo N-8 starfighter scavenged from Padmé's escort for his personal use.

Everyone in the cruiser's cockpit flinched – everyone but V'ar – when it seemed certain that the streaking ship would crash straight through the _Patriot's_ forward viewscreen. When the starfighter was close enough to see the dim outline of the pilot within, it rolled twice in greeting and shot straight up into a tight arc toward the opposite side of the flotilla from the first fighter's path.

_Love you._

Padmé grinned.

V'ar frowned at Padmé over her shoulder. "It's a form of telepathy, isn't it?"

Ah… _that_ was what was bothering V'ar – the secret communication between Padmé and Anakin that formed the basis for all communication between the fighters and the flotilla.

"Didn't Anakin explain?"

"No," V'ar said shortly. "He didn't explain anything to me. How accurate is it?"

Padmé shrugged. "It's no different from speaking to him."

Her arms still folded across her chest, V'ar looked down. Padmé could practically feel disapproval radiating from her.

"Would you like proof?" Padmé offered.

V'ar didn't answer.

_Anakin, tell me everything you see so that I can relay it to V'ar._

Padmé could have sworn that the list of descriptions he immediately and obediently supplied was tinged with amusement. She relayed them word for word, even though she didn't fully understand all of them.

"All right," V'ar said at last, holding up a hand as if to ward off the barrage. "I believe you." Her frown didn't go away, though. "It isn't exactly orthodox, is it?"

Padmé shrugged. "Isn't it? I assumed it's something of which all Jedi are capable."

"No." V'ar shook her head. "People think of us as mind readers, but we are not. Some have the capability for telepathy to a greater or lesser degree… but it is never developed in this way." She hesitated. "It is frowned upon."

"Why?" Dormé piped up. Padmé had never told her about this connection between herself and Anakin. Dormé had been following the conversation with interest.

"It is an unreliable form of communication between individuals with different gifts." V'ar glanced sideways at Padmé. "It is thought that to develop high-level communication between people with equal ability would require a deep and very personal connection that could become both unpredictable and problematic for both."

"Intimacy," Padmé suggested, resisting the urge to raise one eyebrow.

V'ar looked almost uncomfortable. "Precisely. It is not something that permits the kind of detachment required of a Jedi."

"Well, Anakin isn't exactly a Jedi, is he?" Dormé murmured. V'ar shot her a look before turning away to stare out the viewscreen again. Padmé winked at her as soon as V'ar had turned her back.

"Don't worry, V'ar," Padmé said soothingly. "It is a very reliable form of communication between Anakin and me."

V'ar shook her head. "It may seem so to you, but there are dangers…"

"Like what?" Dormé asked curiously.

Remembering the long period of time during which Anakin had cut off their intimate communication because he claimed it was "too dangerous," Padmé said nothing.

Before V'ar could answer – if, indeed, she had intended to answer – the _Patriot's_ copilot announced tersely, "Sensor sweep."

V'ar was behind him instantly, looking over his shoulder at the instruments. "That's a signal from a powerful short-range sensor array. Someone nearby knows we're here.

"Any ship with short-range sensors of that power will also have good long-range sensing capability," the co-pilot pointed out.

"Agreed." V'ar turned to look at Padmé over her shoulder. "Whoever is scanning us has probably been aware of our presence and progress for a long time, My Lady. If you could relay that to Anakin…"

"I already have," Padmé said firmly.

V'ar tightened her lips and nodded tightly in acknowledgement.

"We're to hold fast on our course and continue as planned," Padmé added.

"Holding," the pilot confirmed. Had the _Patriot _changed her position, the others in the flotilla would have followed in a previously agreed-upon pattern. Each ship in the formation acted as lead for another in a looping chain of causality.

"V'ar?"

"Yes, My Lady?"

"Please call me Padmé. That title …" She took a breath. "My titles … are a thing of the past." Dormé's hand slipped reassuringly onto Padmé's shoulder. She reached up and grasped it.

"As you wish." V'ar turned back to the console.

"Telepathy, eh?" Dormé whispered in Padmé's ear. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"No! Padmé whispered back. "It was… it _was _private."

"It will be again soon," Dormé reassured her.

Grateful for Dormé's unconditional sympathy and friendship, Padmé squeezed her hand. "Thank you for being here."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else."

"Telepathy," Dormé muttered again to herself. "Whatever will he come up with next?"

Padmé withdrew her hand to rest it lightly on her mounded belly and settled back to watch and wait.

"Whatever he has to," she whispered to the stars.

x

"Are you sure?" Bail hissed.

"I don't have confirmation, Sir, but I have heard the same rumor from at least ten different sources within the last standard hour." Aeron hovered anxiously just inside the door to Bail's inner office.

"Rumors," Bail growled.

"They are often the best indicator of what is really going on," Aeron offered almost apologetically.

_Rumors can be planted, _Bail's grandmother's voice suggested. Bail stared doubtfully at his clearly anxious assistant. "Has he sent out any official announcements?"

"No, Sir. None. But he has been unavailable for appointments since early yesterday."

Bail's hand reached for the comm. unit, hovered over it briefly, and then withdrew. "Get me the Supreme Chancellor's Office." He waved toward his desk. "On the holovid."

"At once, Sir." Aeron spun out of the door.

A moment later the small holo-image of an unfamiliar, pale, almost ghostly figure cloaked all in white appeared on his desk, bowed, and announced, "Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's office. How may I assist you, Senator Organa?"

Surprised, Bail said quickly, "I'm sorry – I was expecting to speak with Dar Wac."

The strange figure – an Umbaran, as far as Bail could tell, stared straight ahead. "Dar Wac is no longer attached to this office."

"Oh." Bail frowned. He had dealt with Palpatine's Rodian assistant for years. Dar Wac had always managed to obtain appointments for Bail with the busy Supreme Chancellor when he needed one. "Will he be back soon?"

"He will not return."

There was something about the way she said it that gave Bail a chill. She sounded utterly detached. Bail thought to ask about the Rodian's whereabouts, but his grandmother's voice instantly ordered, _Don't! – _so he held his tongue.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said calmly. "Then perhaps you can help me. I need to see the Supreme Chancellor. Right away."

"That is not possible."

"Not today, you mean? Well, then, perhaps tomorrow at his earliest convenience…"

"No."

"Is he away from Coruscant?" Bail probed. "I had heard that he is planning to attend Senator Amidala's Ceremony of Passing on Naboo… I wanted to offer to accompany him, as I will be attending as well."

"It is not possible to arrange a meeting with him," the figure said obtusely.

Bail stared at her, trying to grasp in what universe a Galactic Senator in good standing could be flatly refused a meeting with his Supreme Chancellor. "What is your name?" he demanded. "What is your position?"

"I am Sly Moore," the pale woman replied diffidently, as though it didn't matter one way or the other. "I have taken Dar Wac's place." She said it with all the warmth of a specter.

"I don't understand why I cannot be given more information," Bail snapped, because he didn't.

"I am sorry," the figure said unsympathetically, and the transmission abruptly ended.

When Aeron crept back into the office, Bail was still staring in amazement at the empty space where the hologram had vanished.

"I hope you eavesdropped on that one, Aeron."

"Of course, Sir."

"What do you make of it?"

"I don't know, Sir," Aeron said mournfully. "I have a very bad feeling about this."

Bail turned to stare at him. "That, my young friend, is a masterpiece of understatement."

Aeron shuffled his feet. "So, will you go, Sir? To Naboo, I mean?"

Bail rubbed his forehead. "I feel I must, but even if I leave now I will barely arrive in time…" his head snapped up as he thought of something. "Contact Sabé Marterre right away. Warn her of the possibility that Palpatine is on his way to Naboo."

"At once." Aeron sprinted back to his desk.

Was Palpatine indeed on his way to Naboo? Bail wondered. If not, then where would he have gone? More to the point, why would the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic travel anywhere during war-torn Galaxy's gravest crisis? A massive Separatist invasion was about to overrun Core star systems. Coruscant wouldn't be far behind – the panic already could be felt in the halls of the Senate and in city beyond. A leader should be seen and heard during such events…

_Maybe he's gone to the front, his grandmother's voice suggested bitterly. 'Heroic Defender of the Republic'…wouldn't that just be his style!_

For some reason, the image of a chak'la board popped into Bail's mind – not the beginning of a game, where all the pieces were set up for play, but an end game, where any move by the stronger player would achieve the same outcome: total destruction of the weaker player's assets.

_Click_, the imaginary pieces in his mind moved on a gleaming game board. _Click._

"Aeron!" Bail bellowed. The Senator was a man who _never _raised his voice. "Get me Mon Mothma! Now!"

x

"All right, lad, one more sweep an' we'll go home." Keinan Pell re-set his scanners and set a new course that would take his two-man patrol back along his assigned sector of Nowhere's forward defense line one last time. Kenobi didn't like to leave anything to chance. Pell's patrol and the others along the line were there to make sure all ships were in position as reported.

"We have no homes," the pilot of the other scout ship, a young refugee from the Telluria system, retorted through his headset.

Pell chuckled. "Good point. All right, one more sweep and we'll head back ter base."

"We have no base," the youngster – well, in Pell's eyes he was a youngster, even if he was a damn good pilot – said matter-of-factly. "All we have is a cloud of ships."

Pell chortled. "A 'cloud' of ships? What are yer – a pilot or a poet?"

"Sorry, Sir." The young man suddenly sounded embarrassed.

"I'm not criticizin', lad. I'm just …"

"Captain Pell," Kenobi's voice on the comm. interrupted. Pell responded immediately, "Aye, General. What can I do fer ya?"

"Long range scans show unidentified ships heading your way at Mark zero-zero-nine point one two.

You had better get back behind the lines, Captain. It looks as though their first patrols have arrived."

"Understood, General Kenobi." Pell switched channels. "You hear that, lad? Time ter head back …"

"Watch out!" the Tellurian yelled, his voice suddenly shrill.

A pair of blood-red laser blasts shot across Pell's viewscreen at an upward angle.

"I see 'em… I see 'em… heads up, boy! They're below us…" Pell fought the controls of the tiny starfighter they'd assigned him, too stunned even to curse.

That wasn't long range fire. Whatever was shooting at them had appeared out of nowhere…

No, not _'Nowhere'_… that was _enemy_ fire …they must have turned up that exact moment when his scanner was recalibrating…

"Behind you!" the Tellurian boy's voice yelled into Pell's ear. The scanner showed two blips, right on his tail.

"I …am…not… a…fighter…pilot!" Pell growled under his breath, slamming into a hard high loop over whatever was behind him. "I'm… too… old …for…this…" His real post was on Kenobi's heavy cruiser – he'd only gone out on the patrol as a favor to the General, to fill in the numbers. The enemy was supposed to be hours away …

Upside down at the apex of the loop, he could finally see the two small, boxy fighters that were pursuing him. "Where are yer, boy?" he yelled into the comm. "I could use a little help…"

As if in answer to his plea, one of the dark shapes suddenly exploded into a silent orange cloud. Heartened, Pell fired on the remaining ship as soon as he thought he was in position.

He missed.

His reward was another barrage of laser fire that made it look as though all of space just beyond his viewscreen was on fire.

_Of all the muckwallowing, motherblasting, starshilling, excremental, graavakstomping sons of the cheating black heart of this Galaxy… _

The steady cursing got him through another bone-jarring roll away from the worst of the fire. The scanner showed he had put a little distance between himself and the enemy ship, but where was the boy? He swung the little starfighter's nose around, anxiously watching the targeting computer's screen.

_Come on, come on, come on…_

"I've got him!" the boy's voice crowed suddenly. The blackness outside exploded into flame again, but two seconds later the concentric rings on Pell's targeting computer coalesced into a perfect shot on …the _enemy_ ship.

It was still there.

It was the boy's ship that was gone.

Eyes blurred, Pell fired blindly where the instruments told him to.

The horizon exploded again. Pell didn't need the computer to tell him that his target had been achieved.

He paused there for a moment, breathing heavily, until a calm voice in his headset – not Kenobi's – announced, "The enemy has engaged. Repeat, the enemy has engaged. All scout ships report in and return behind the defensive perimeter."

The comms. channels came alive with reports from embattled scout patrols.

Pell roused himself amid the chatter. "Scout One here." He paused. "We lost a poet."

"Say again Scout One? Did you say we lost a pilot?"

"Ah, to hell with it," Pell muttered, and headed back to the waiting cloud of ships.

x

… _and so it begins…_

Even before the sensor screens on the Intrepid exploded into violent activity, Obi-Wan Kenobi reacted physically.

He recoiled.

A palpable shudder passed through his body – a tangible tremor that shook his shoulders and forced him to clamp his hands together to steady them.

Cold. He felt so cold.

The reaction was uncharacteristic of him – bizarre, in fact. There was no time to wonder about it, though. Two deep steadying breaths took care of the physical symptoms, at least enough to dilute their power to distract him.

The crisp, calm order relayed to the scout ships by the dispatcher brought the comms. circuits alive with reports confirming what the sensors had shown, and what Obi-Wan had known. Stealthy enemy fighters were practically bumping up against Nowhere's perimeter defense. A quick analysis confirmed that they were droid ships, which normally wouldn't register through the Force.

But Obi-Wan had felt them. Or rather, he had felt something. And he was still so cold…

He pulled his cloak more tightly around him.

"Recall the scouts," he ordered.

The excited comms. chatter subsided and became more orderly as the scout ships regrouped and began their retreat. Obi-Wan rubbed his upper arms to warm them. No one else on the Bridge appeared to be feeling the chill.

"My screen went blank!" he heard an Ensign in the tactical bay below him yelp with panic in his voice. "A second ago there were hundreds of signals, then the screen went blank!"

"Countermeasures," the comms. officer in the bay snapped. "Someone must be blocking sensors with a massive signal. Pull yourself together, Ensign, and inform General Kenobi …"

"I'm here." To save time, Obi-Wan had leaped over the railing that separated him from the banks of consoles below, landing lightly right behind the panicked Ensign. "Sound General Quarters," he ordered the startled senior officer, while placing a reassuring hand on the young Ensign's shoulder. "Order all hands to battle stations, defense pattern Alpha. We need to clear out those fighters."

The comms. officer obeyed instantly. The order rang out. Obi-Wan felt the young Ensign relax beneath his hand.

"Don't worry, Ensign," Obi-Wan said calmly. "I have been waiting for something like this. No matter what else happens around you, I want you to monitor the blockages. Note them. Track them. Find me a pattern, and see whether you can locate the exact origin of the countermeasures."

"Yes, Sir!"

"Report any findings directly to me." Obi-Wan removed his hand. The young man was calmer now – calm and focused.

"Carry on," Obi-Wan murmured to the sheepish senior officer, and made his way back up to his command post using the more conventional route of the stairs.

He had been expecting something like this, although it wasn't a tactic one would expect from the Separatists. Long, painful experience had shown that Separatist invaders usually slammed through a sector like a bludgeon, confident that they would overwhelm everyone and everything in their path by their sheer numbers. And usually, unless the Republic forces were ready and waiting for them, they did.

This time there were no Republic forces waiting, except …

Obi-Wan studied the screens that were still working. There it sat, just beyond Corellia's borders: the massive Republic task force led by the _Victorious._

In all the time Kenobi had been tracking it, the task force had moved only once – it had retreated out of the path of the coming onslaught. The Separatists forces that seemingly had taken no notice whatsoever of the Republic's finest.

None.

The invaders just kept coming, as though the Victorious posed no threat at all.

That was why Obi-Wan had been geared toward expecting the unexpected.

It didn't add up.

Or rather, it did, but he didn't like the answers that were suggested. They begged belief. And every time he thought about them, the sense of fatigue and of oppression – in his body and in his mind – grew stronger.

"The droid scout ships have retreated," the tactical officer announced.

Instantly Obi-Wan put his musings aside. "Front lines, form up," he ordered, turning his full attention to the scanner displays.

His order rippled outward across the circuits, followed by a sudden lull in the chatter on the bridge and over the comms., as though a collective breath of anticipation had been drawn all across the Corellian battlefront.

Whatever happened next was up to the enemy.

"There!" the tactical officer on the battle bridge sang out at last.

Bright lights appeared on the scanners – masses of them – accelerating toward each other, and forming into three distinct formations separated widely in distance.

"What are they?" someone on the bridge exclaimed.

"More droid scout ships," a wing commander's voice crackled over the comm. "In formation this time. Hundreds of them!"

"Steady…" Obi-Wan admonished over the wide comms. circuit. "They are forming a smaller trident attack that mimics their main attack force. It is nothing to be alarmed about, people. Remember – they are droids. Originality is not their forte."

The ensuing front-wide chatter sounded distinctly more cheerful.

The droid ships seemed to settle into their positions, facing off against the front lines of the Refugee fleet, three distinct prongs ready to attack.

_This is only the beginning,_ Obi-Wan reminded himself; and yet he already was tired. So tired. He couldn't remember ever having been this tired. And cold…

The center droid formation erupted from its position in a flash, spewing blood-red particle beams as they maneuvered as one into the shape of a pyramid hurtling toward the equator of the Refugee sphere.

"Sector 50, increase power to your forward shields!" Obi-Wan ordered, his physical discomfort forgotten. "Sectors 40 to 60, stand by for release on my order."

The pyramid spun around on its axis about the lead ship, firing continuously.

Five smaller vessels along the equator evaporated in a silent cloud of fire.

The battle bridge rang with cries of horror at the sudden loss.

"They're targeting the smaller ships!" one Commander yelled to the fleet. "We need to close up! Cover them. General, we need to release Liberty Wing to slow them down!"

It was Pell who had named the fighter wings of the Corellian regulars. "Let 'em remember what they're fightin' fer," he had said.

The droid pyramid plunged ahead, disgorging more and more blaster fire.

"General!"

"Close up!" Obi-Wan ordered at length. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded wearier than he would have liked. "Close up. Sectors 2-8, release on my order." The comms. circuit went silent for what seemed like an eternity. "Now! Now! Now!"

The equator ships moved in unison, parting in every direction. On the scanner screens it looked like a giant maw opening wide.

Fifty ships erupted from the new opening, ion cannons and blaster fire discharging onto the droid formation.

The other two droid groups sprang into action, forming into their own smaller versions of the primary pyramid and loosing blaster fire.

"They're flanking us, General!" the same Commander yelled.

"Release Freedom Wing!" Obi-Wan ordered instantly.

Two hundred proton torpedoes erupted from the secondary droid pyramid fighter groups and shot straight toward the upper and lower ends of the Refugee front line emplacements.

"Target the torpedoes, Freedom Wing!" Obi-Wan ordered. "Ignore the main droid ships. Those torpedoes must not get through!" They were doing well so far, his mismatched troops – much better than he had any right to hope. He shouldn't be feeling this weary. What was wrong with him? He felt his knees trembling, and grabbed hold of the console to steady himself.

Freedom Wing twisted and turned and let loose their blaster fire on the incoming missiles.

The enemy torpedoes evaded every blast. Every one.

"By the Force!" Freedom Leader's stunned voice came across the open comm. "General! They've put droid brains in their torpedoes. Advise!"

Fatigue washed over Obi-Wan like a heavy wave. His knees felt as though they might buckle. He fought the feeling. It wasn't just tired, it was the cold that made every action, every attempt to think clearly feel as though he was pushing an enormous weight up a hill, only whenever he pushed, the weight pushed back.

_Steady,_ a warm, strong voice seemed to whisper by Obi-Wan's ear. Without thinking, he reached up to brush away something that almost felt like the tickle of a breath. _You are not alone,_ the voice whispered, without a tickle this time. It just felt… warm.

The chills receded.

"General!"

"Direct your fire at the lead droid ship in each formation," Obi-Wan snapped into the comm., his voice stronger. "Target the apex of the pyramids!"

Freedom Wing dispersed in a wide pattern, breaking into smaller teams of fighters.

The droid pyramids barreled forward, following their missiles that were returning to their original courses.

"I hope you know what you're doing, General," the Commander of the net broke in. "This is one heck of a gamble. If those missiles get through they will decimate our entire front line."

"Lock it up, Commander!" someone else barked. It was Pell. Obi-Wan almost smiled. Almost.

One of the three fighter groups from Freedom Wing let loose a barrage of fire on the secondary pyramid's lead ship. A starburst of light erupted and the ship vanished from the scanner display.

"Pull out!" Freedom Leader yelled, and the team veered away.

Sure enough, the conflagration grew as the lead ship's destruction engulfed the remaining vessels. In an instant, the entire pyramid evaporated in a shower of light and heat.

"Yes!" Pell yelled over the comm. circuit that suddenly erupted in cheers. "One down, two to go!"

"Keep your focus!" Obi-Wan said sternly. "There are two more out there."

His rebuke was hardly necessary. Heartened by the first team's success, the second team swarmed around the tertiary pyramid and decimated it with ion cannon fire just as quickly as the first team had.

Suddenly the missiles began careening widely, crashing into each other and turning back on themselves. Some swerved toward the primary pyramid. Not a single one continued toward the Rebel Fleet's front lines.

A few ships broke formation from the droid group and engaged the torpedoes, blasting the remaining missiles from space.

"Liberty Two, Liberty Three," screamed Liberty Leader over the main channel. "Form up on me. This main group is bigger than the first and it looks like they've figured out what we're up to. I've got twenty-five enemy ships breaking ranks. Liberty Three, you engage the the renegade vessels and we'll move in for the kill on the main group."

The three fighter groups merged as one briefly before the Liberty Two unit overtook her sister units and set off to engage the stray droid vessels.

Twenty-five droid vessels against thirty-two seasoned pilots. It should have been no contest.

It was not.

In twelve seconds all thirty-two ships of the Liberty Two group erupted in a cloud of fire.

"What the…?"

"Fall back! Fall back!" To his credit, Liberty Leader's voice had none of the anguish he was sure to have been feeling.

Obi-Wan shuddered with cold. _I can't…_ he thought, on the verge of despair. _I can't keep going…_

_Open your mind,_ the voice by his ear seemed to whisper. _Open your perceptions. _Obi-Wan struggled to obey, as he always had obeyed that voice. _There. See? _

Stealing a precious moment to look around the busy battle bridge, Obi-Wan saw the normal things. His people, working intensely at their tasks. Banks of comms. equipment, alive with signals and data. Multiple screens flickering all around the bridge, some of which still reflected in abstracted geometric forms the very real movements and life-and death events that were taking place outside in space beyond.

He glanced out the viewscreen at the endless dark vista of ships and stars, stars and ships…

_Look,_ Obi-Wan, the warm voice whispered by his ear. _Look…_

When Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from the blackness beyond and looked around the bridge once again, he saw.

He saw!

His eyes filled with tears. He couldn't stop them coming.

Every space on the battle bridge, every gangway, every little space behind the seats and between the equipment banks was filled with the ghostly, transparent, vibrant presence of _Jedi_ … Jedi of every species and age imaginable, dressed in robes from every era as far back as history records…

_Jedi._ His ancestors. His family. His strength. They were all here, on this battle bridge, filling its unseen dimensions. Radiating strength and purpose. Standing by him. Supporting him. Bringing a sense of acknowledgement, and security, and… warmth.

Bringing light.

The feeling of cold had gone. The oppressive darkness had receded. Obi-Wan finally understood what had affected him so badly: darkness. A shadow in the Force. He shuddered, remembering. Its touch alone had been enough to bring despair... and yet awareness of that shadow was enough at the moment to push it away.

Standing firm once again in the circle of light that surrounded him, his strength renewed, Obi-Wan gazed out into the darkness beyond. _it really is beginning..._, he thought again, understanding much better this time what those words really meant. _The lines have been drawn._ And beside him…

_It is very nice to see you, Master Jinn,_ Obi-Wan said quietly inside the expanded universe of his mind. In that realm, the simple words threw off a shimmering explosion of emotion, like a spinning prism struck by light.

_I never left you,_ the apparition by his side murmured.

Obi-Wan breathed. He just breathed. The tears went away.

He grabbed his comm.

"All Sectors return to your original positions," he announced in his true voice. "Prepare to execute defense plan beta."


	35. Chapter 34 Convergence

**Chapter 34. Convergence**

"It doesn't make sense," the _Victorious'_ Executive Officer murmured, staring at the geometry of destruction displayed by the myriad points and lines on the bridge's long-range scanner display. "Why would they face off against something like _that_?"

"Hmmm?" Standing beside the man with his arms tightly crossed, Tarkin was ostensibly also absorbed in the distant story that was playing out the sensor display. But his mind was elsewhere.

"Why do they hold? Why don't they flee?" The Executive Officer, normally an unexpressive man, shook his head. "Look at that…" he pointed at the largely orderly dance of a thousand tiny points of light on the scanner, "… they engage and retreat, engage and retreat. Do they honestly believe that the fleet that's coming from Esh-Col will make any difference?

Tarkin didn't bother to reply. He didn't care why the rebels – for that was how he had begun to think of them – chose to face their certain annihilation head-on. If anything, he felt faintly disappointed that he wouldn't have the opportunity to wipe them out himself. But his orders were clear.

"Any signal yet?" he asked his Comms. Officer.

"Not yet, Sir."

Yet again, Tarkin composed himself to wait. He had been doing nothing else for a very long time.

He had become good at it.

"What is the status of the other rebel – ah – flotilla?" He refused to dignify the bizarre collection of vessels that was bearing down on the embattled sector by referring to it as "fleet."

"Same speed and trajectory, Sir. They are moving fast, but no indication of taking any action to join in with the others now that the fighting has begun. We calculate that they are still at least two hours out."

Tarkin almost smiled. _Good. _Let them continue to hold their course. With luck, by the time they arrived his other obligation would be fulfilled, and he would have the pleasure of dealing with that lot of rabble himself.

The Comms. Officer's head snapped up. "Receiving coded signal now, Captain."

"Time to arrival?" Tarkin uncrossed his arms and brought them smartly down to his sides.

"A matter of minutes, Sir." The Comms. Officer swallowed nervously. "We didn't see them coming, Sir. They must have been cloaked…"

Tarkin cut him off. "Make ready landing bay A-19." He was halfway across the bridge by the time he announced, somewhat unnecessarily, "I will meet our visitors there personally."

Behind his back the Executive Officer and the Comms. officer exchanged a furtive glance. Whoever these visitors were, the ones for whom they had been watching and waiting, they must be very high ranking.

"What kind of a ship is it?" The Executive Officer whispered, curious enough to break with protocol once the Captain had left the bridge.

"I can't identify it, Sir, the Comms. Officer whispered back. "We didn't even know it was there. It's small, whatever it is…"

The Executive Officer quickly placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying more. "Carry on," he murmured.

x

"Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan turned around to see the Senator from the Corellia System striding toward him, looking completely different from the faded man he had dispatched back home to his family on Corellia only a few hours before.

"What in blazes are you doing here?" Obi-Wan demanded. "I thought I sent you to safety well behind the lines!"

Bel Iblis was dressed in full Senate-style regalia. His head was high; his gaze, imperious. "My place is here!" he announced grandly, and quite loudly enough to be heard all across the Bridge. Perhaps it was his rather magnificent appearance, or his towering height, or his bellowing voice, but the Bridge personnel parted like a wave to let him through. Quite a few shot him admiring glances.

It was only when Bel Iblis arrived at his side that Obi-Wan saw the film of sweat that covered the Senator's face and neck.

Obi-Wan returned to his console with its lurid battle displays. "You're being an ass," he murmured quietly. "You're no good to me here. I need you alive and using your influence on our behalf back on Corellia, not blown to bits with the rest of us."

"I'd love to oblige, believe me," Bel Iblis muttered. He pulled out a gleaming white cloth and mopped his neck while studying the scanner readouts with a kind of horrified fascination. His voice was barely above a whisper – meant for Kenobi to hear, and no one else. "I tried. If I had kept going I would be home with my family by now."

"Then why didn't you?" Obi-Wan muttered, frowning at the scanner readouts. Abruptly he gripped his comm. "Units 17 to 28, extend the flank!"

The hologram shifted briefly as the markers indicating enemy ships looped further and further around Obi-Wan's carefully constructed defensive formations.

"We're on it, General," came the immediate reply. The patterns on the screen shifted again and again, punctuated by cross-talk from the front.

"Liberty Five," Liberty Leader called out. "Take care of those stragglers. I'll cover your six."

"Watch out, Liberty Leader…" Freedom Seventeen piped up. Then, "Got 'em! You're clear!"

Bel Iblis waited, still sweating, until the ensuing chatter had died down. "Halfway to Corellia," he whispered urgently to Obi-Wan, "I received two messages that you need to know about. I couldn't risk broadcasting either one – even under heavy encryption."

"So you came all the way back here?"

"Didn't want to. Had to. Listen …" Bel Iblis looked around surreptitiously and lowered his voice even more. "We might be getting help."

"Might be?" Obi-Wan asked wearily, listening to Bel Iblis with only a small part of his mind. Most of his attention remained focused on the furious skirmish just beyond the defensive perimeter. "A little certainty would be nice just now."

"Just listen. It seems that a task force headed by the _Leviathan_ has requested permission to take a shortcut through Corellian Space. They forwarded the request to me."

"The _Leviathan_ ... that's a Jedi command! Master Reeven is on his way here? Are you certain?"

"Not Reeven," Bel Iblis hissed. "Windu! And by the time the request arrived, they already had entered our star system." He raised one eyebrow. He's pretty sure of himself, Your Windu."

For the first time in a long time, a smile tugged at the edge of Obi-Wan's mouth.

"I hope you didn't turn him away."

"Very funny. Listen, Kenobi, this is an unheard-of move for the Jedi. Do you realize what it means?" Bel Iblis' efforts to keep his voice very low turned it into a sibilant hiss. "By helping us openly, your Jedi are taking a bold stand against the Republic … removing themselves, in effect, from Palpatine's sphere… taking a stand against him…"

Something began to prickle in Obi-Wan's awareness. He glanced up at the massive, invisible Jedi Force that occupied his battle bridge. _Taking a stand… yes…_

"What is the second message?" he asked far more tranquilly than he felt. Something was moving, forming in his mind, but it hadn't yet coalesced.

Bel Iblis mopped his forehead. "Oh. Well. Now this is the bad news…"

Obi-Wan would have ignored Bel Iblis' unease but for the sudden impression of a spectral hand resting heavily his left shoulder. He braced himself.

"Go on."

"Organa spoke to Mon, who of course contacted me. Palpatine…" Bel Iblis glanced hurriedly around the battle bridge and leaned even closer to Obi-Wan, "… it seems that Palpatine has disappeared from Coruscant."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Obi-Wan leaned heavily on the console in front of him, propped up on his arms.

"Organa is convinced that he might have decided to come out here… to be close to the battle, or some damn thing." Bel Iblis shook his head. "It's a completely crazy notion, but Organa won't let go of it, and of course Mon trusts his sources and his judgment…"

Obi-Wan looked up from his display screens and out at the blackness outside. While the images on the screens continued to dart here and there, occasionally flashing brightly or winking out altogether, outside the viewscreen, as far as the eye could see, the galaxy's stars and his ships hung serenely in their places.

And yet he couldn't seem to look away from the great void beyond. The bridge around him seemed to fade into the background, narrowing Obi-Wan's focus to some obscure point in far out in space. Without looking, he knew that every one of the ghostly figures of the Jedi on his battle bridge was staring in the same direction.

_By the Gods…_

"I don't know what he thinks he could accomplish here, if it is true," Bel Iblis rambled on. "But Mon wanted to make sure you knew."

Obi-Wan couldn't tear his gaze from the viewscreen. The hair stood up on his arms. His neck tensed. His feet seemed rooted to the floor plates. In his mind – to his perception – the transparent blackness of space began to morph into something solid… … dense… _tangible…_

…so tangible, in fact, that the stars themselves seemed to disappear behind it, leaving more and more unrelieved blackness that seemed to stab into his very heart.

He took a sharp, deep breath. He had to. He took another one, drawing into himself the thousand points of light that surrounded him on the battle bridge. The darkness receded from his heart and his limbs and his blood. But the stars outside were gone.

At some point Obi-Wan realized that Bel Iblis had fallen silent and was staring at him. He blinked, and to his eyes all on the bridge looked normal again – the computer consoles, the scanner screens, the data readouts, the people bustling about – even the stars outside. But the images from the realm beyond – for Obi-Wan was sure that was what he had glimpsed – burned in his soul.

He took another breath. "I believe that Organa is right. He is here."

"But why…" Something about Obi-Wan's face must have made Bel Iblis stop talking. Instead, he wiped his neck with the cloth again.

"Take heart, my friend." Obi-Wan returned his attention to his console. "This may be the final battle of the war."

"You said this wasn't a battle!" Bel Iblis sputtered. "You said this was a holding action!"

"Go home, Garm." Obi-Wan's voice was low and even and … dangerous. "Go home while you still can."

Bel Iblis was back on his ship and streaking for Corellia before the wall of destruction that was the center prong of the Separatist invasion had lit up all of the _Intrepid's_ functioning scanners like the first rays of a nova.

x

Padmé looked up from the long silence during which she had pretended, for Dormé's sake, to doze. It must have worked, for Dormé wasn't on the bridge. She must have finally taken a break. But something had caught Padmé's attention. What was it? She looked around.

V'ar.

The Jedi did not appear to have moved for hours, but something about her seemed different. She radiated … rapt attention. Or was it tension?

_Anakin?_

_Here._

He seemed tense, too. Tense and something more…

_V'ar seems…_

_I know._

Precisely at that moment V'ar turned around to look at Padmé, but did not speak.

Padmé sighed, suddenly uncomfortable with her role as the only channel between V'ar and Anakin. They were both on high alert, and she didn't know why.

"Anakin says he senses it, too."

V'ar's expression didn't change, but she kept looking at Padmé.

_Anakin? She's glaring at me. I think she wants to know…_

"Anakin says to check the long range scanners for the current position of the _Victorious. _He says …it… is centered there."

_Anakin, what is 'it'?_

His reply arrived in the form of feelings rather than words. Overwhelming feelings that left her dizzy and sick.

Pain. Loss. Fear…

Her heart twisting from the impact, Padmé stifled a sob.

_Anakin?_

_It's all right. It will… be all right. _

Padmé could feel every bit of the effort the reassurance cost him. They were linked, after all. _Linked…_

V'ar stared at her a moment longer, this time with distinctly compressed lips. Then two long, fluid strides took her to the Nav. console. "We're closer to the _Victorious_ than to Nowhere," she announced tersely after studying the readouts. "But…" she straightened up and closed her eyes. There was a deep pause. "The attack has begun. Nowhere's defense forces have engaged with the invaders."

Padmé heaved a heavy sigh – not her own. It was Anakin's. It was quickly followed by another – hers, this time – when she understood with growing horror how desperately Anakin longed to turn toward the _Victorious_. He yearned… he _ached … _to confront… no, to _destroy!_… something…

"Anakin!" she cried out, not realizing she had spoken aloud. Instantly V'ar was kneeling by her side.

"What is it?" V'ar hissed. "What is wrong?"

Padmé shook her head fiercely. By the best of will, it was all she could manage in the face of the torrent of sorrow and remorse that flowed from Anakin's mind and heart to hers.

_I'm sorry, Padmé, I'm so sorry. I slipped. That wasn't meant for you … I should never have…_

Slowly her fright and horror subsided, sluiced away by floods of love and reassurance.

_What are you going to do, Anakin? What are you going to… _

_We are going to do exactly as we planned – only sooner. _The thought was steadfast. Resolved. Padmé breathed more easily. _Tell V'ar to begin speeding up and repositioning the convoy. I want full cover at the following point… _he relayed a series of coordinates which Padmé recited out loud with perfect accuracy, along with his instructions.

V'ar nodded and rose to her feet. "He's going to break off with the fighters earlier than planned. It's just as well." She looked down at Padmé. "After that, we'll be on our own. Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Dormé reappeared on the bridge carrying a tray of drinks for all personnel.

"A fight," Padmé said dryly.

"Oh." Dormé put the tray down carefully and began handing around cups, beginning with Padmé and V'ar. "Is anyone ever really ready for something like that?"

"I am." V'ar accepted her steaming cup and, nodding her thanks, moved over to the Nav. bay.

Dormé raised an eyebrow at Padmé, who merely shrugged and gazed away out the viewscreen.

_Anakin? _

_Here._

x

The small ship – dark, sleek and entirely unmarked – slipped almost noiselessly into landing bay A-19 and rolled to a stop perfectly within its allotted space. As ordered, all landing bay personnel completed their tasks and trotted briskly out of the area, leaving their Captain alone with the mysterious visitors.

Tarkin waited patiently, back straight, hands clasped behind him, for his guest to disembark.

He was expecting one passenger. Only one.

His first shock came when the hatch slid aside and a flash of vivid red appeared and cascaded down the gangway like blood. The swirling robes of four Senate Elite guards were almost unbearably bright in the dull grays and dim whites of the battle cruiser's landing bay. Unaccountably unsettled, Captain Tarkin swallowed and braced his feet more firmly against the deck.

The figure that followed the slash of red robes was also not what he had expected. In Tarkin's mind, his Supreme Leader was a figure of magnificence – even opulence. What emerged from the ship was a form that appeared small in contrast to the towering height of the Elite Guards, entirely covered by a characterless dark robe.

Momentarily uncertain, Tarkin lingered before stepping forward in greeting. He wanted to be sure whom he had before him. While he hesitated, he received yet another shock, for which he was ill prepared. A second figure, also hidden under a dark robe with a deep cowl, stepped out of the ship behind the first. More blood-colored Guards followed the second figure.

Rooted to his spot by confusion, his mind racing, Tarkin could only watch as the group walked sedately down the gangplank and toward him. Finally he collected himself enough to stride briskly forward and to bow deeply and formally to the first figure. A bow was a good idea in any case, and it bought him precious time to figure out whom, exactly, he was facing.

"Ah, Captain Tarkin," the cloaked figure intoned, and Tarkin was immediately relieved. He knew that voice. It was undoubtedly the voice of his master.

"Supreme Chancellor. Welcome aboard the _Victorious_." Tarkin forced himself to keep his eyes on the shadows where Palpatine's face was hidden by the robe rather than allowing them to stray curiously to the other figure. If he was to be introduced to the other party at all, it would be at the Supreme Chancellor's discretion.

Tarkin's final shock was the worst of all. It happened when, without waiting for an introduction, the second figure reached up with both hands to toss back the cowl of his deep brown cloak. His face was more than familiar. The beard – the eyes that burned into his – oh, yes, Tarkin knew who the man was.

He just didn't know why in the Seven Hells that man was on _his _ship, obviously at the invitation of, and under the protection of, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. If he could have his way, Tarkin would rather kill the man than greet him. He turned back to the Supreme Chancellor in silent supplication.

"As you can see, Captain Tarkin," the Supreme Chancellor said genially, "you have the honor of being present at a turning point in history."

x

Panic is a tangible thing. Once ignited, it grows and spreads, leaping like fire from one terrified being to the next. Before Obi-Wan could deal with the enemy inferno beyond, he had to deal with the conflagration of fear among his own troops, few of whom had experience in the art of facing a wall of certain death.

But then, why should they be experienced in such a thing? Why should anyone? They were facing an atrocity – a cold killing machine, devoid of desire or even hatred. Living beings made of flesh, bone and scale – beings animated by the Force, alight with thought and feeling – are not disposed to accept annihilation by machines. Most of the beings under his command felt the abomination in the depths of their souls, and so, faced with a mindless mass of vessels swooping down on them – they panicked. Obi-Wan felt their fright in the shocked silence that followed the first blaze on the sensors. He heard it in the terrified, desperate chatter that followed. He saw it in the flustered, indiscriminate movements of many of the ships in his defensive net.

But face it, they must.

Everything rested on his shoulders now. Obi-Wan knew that. He straightened those shoulders. Relaxed them deliberately. Having made certain his voice could be heard throughout the widest comm. net, Obi-Wan began talking, issuing a continuous stream of reassurances, orders and directions.

His calm, steady flow of words never abated. His voice became the sound of order and clarity, conveying the feeling – however illusory – that not all sanity had suddenly vanished from the universe, that destruction was not inevitable, and that there was still opportunity to act, and to act wisely. Obi-Wan spoke to his wavering fighting force not as soldiers, for most were not, but as free beings that must choose to bring their individual will to bear on what was to come.

"Remember," he repeated again and again, "they are droids. They can adapt, but they don't think. Seen as a whole, the invading army seems overwhelming." Obi-Wan disliked the word 'enemy.' "Ignore its scale. Focus only on your immediate task, on the space and the companions that you protect, on those who protect you, and on the guidance of your commanders."

All across the comms. net professional soldiers snickered audibly at the idea of commanders providing 'guidance,' which broke the tension a little. Obi-Wan paused briefly to allow the humor to reach all the way down the lines, and then began again, even though he long since had exceeded the limit of his comfort level with verbal communication. Though the scanners' glare told him that he was running out of time, he kept talking to his troops because it was necessary. His words flowed like water, dousing the wildfire of fear.

"Our job is to protect and to defend – to hold this place and to prevent the invasion from sweeping farther into the Star System," he reminded the frightened assembly. Finally, at the last possible moment, he took the risk of raising their hopes. "Know this – we will not have to hold on our own for long. Reinforcements are on the way."

The comm. net crackled with somewhat hysterical cheers that were quickly obscured by barked orders from commanders. The scanners showed Obi-Wan's defensive net straightening out again, just as the visible space outside the viewscreen splintered into a jagged patterns like lightning bolts.

Only deadlier.

x

"We're here. This is the place." V'ar turned away from the console to look Padmé full in the face.

Anakin's response was instantaneous, and directed at Padmé, not V'ar. _Stay with V'ar. Follow the plan. Don't take any chances._

_Anakin, I…_

_I know. Now tell V'ar to begin._

"Form the barrier," Padmé relayed the message to V'ar.

With a quick nod of acknowledgement, V'ar consulted with the pilot, and the _Patriot_ began to shift her position ever so slightly in relation to the other ships in the flotilla. Very quickly the others adjusted their speed and courses to match, spreading out into a formation designed to block the scanner beams from the _Victorious_. The fighters that had been tucked in between the larger ships slipped out of their hiding places and moved into formation behind Anakin on the far side of the signal blockade.

Padmé, too, was focused on Anakin.

_I think you're enjoying this, _she commented, having experienced a wash of Anakin's eagerness and deep-down excitement.

His amused smile appeared on her face.

_It's what I do, _he offered matter-of-factly.

That gave Padmé a moment's pause. It was true, when she thought about it. Anakin seemed to have been born to fight. _I'm scared, _she admitted at last.

His arch reply arrived couched in tenderness and shared memories_. I thought you weren't afraid to die. _

_I don't suppose I am,_ Padmé mused, _although I worry for the baby. No, Anakin, I think what I am most afraid of is the prospect of having to go on without you._

His response was a heated, kaleidoscopic jumble along the lines of, _No! You won't have to! _ - so vehement that Padmé held her head in both hands. When she felt the tug of V'ar's worried glance, Anakin settled down. _You said it yourself, Padmé. I'm not easily killed._

"We're in position," V'ar said.

_All right, Padmé._ Anakin seemed calm again. Businesslike. _I'm going to reduce the connection between us. The channel will still be open, but we won't have access to one another's thoughts unless we make a specific effort. Do you remember how to do that?_

_Of course … but… why? _For a panicked moment Padmé couldn't think straight.

_I have to. Just for now._ Images of the enormous contingent of eager, barely schooled fighter pilots that depended upon Anakin for leadership flooded into Padmé's mind They needed him clear and focused and strong. She mustn't distract him. That was the reason… surely.

_I understand. I understand. _Padmé fought against her despair at the prospect of once again losing Anakin's warm presence in her mind. She thought she had won that inner skirmish, until… _Come back to me! _The emotion burst out of Padmé's core, from somewhere near her solar plexus. She couldn't contain it.

Anakin's response was a startled and almost perplexed, _I'm right here! I'm not going anywhere! _followed by a warm surge of feeling that felt like an embrace. But that wasn't the only thing Padmé felt. Through the profound link between them she glimpsed the depth and breadth of the burdens Anakin carried. She felt the crushing weight of his responsibility for so many lives. She grasped the fragile line he walked; the precarious boundary between the improbability of success and desperate terror at the consequences of failure. She burned with his hope, seared with his ferocious determination, and shivered with his fear.

_Oh, Anakin…_

Then his vivid presence in her mind ebbed away, leaving behind only the promise that she could reach him if she needed to, at any distance.

"There they go," the pilot announced.

Padmé stood up shakily to look out the viewscreen with the others. Beyond the perimeter of the flotilla she could just make out the endless string of tiny fighters leaving the convoy in single file. The eye could see them clearly until the distance grew too great, but on the scanners they appeared like nothing more than an amorphous dot.

In the briefing Anakin had described the maneuver as moving like Tusken Raiders– the predators who rode single file to hide their numbers.

"Best speed to destination," V'ar ordered when the dot had disappeared from the short-range scanners.

"Hey, look at that!" the pilot yelped suddenly, pointing at the long-range scanner readouts.

On the scanner screen their destination – the 'safe' space behind Nowhere's defense perimeter – was surrounded by the starburst pattern of violent energy discharges: ships and weapons; weapons and ships. It wasn't clear whether there was a safe place left – or even whether there was such a place as "behind."

Like the others on the bridge in that moment, Padmé reached deep down inside herself to search for strength. In the empty space left behind by Anakin's withdrawal from her mind, she found only… herself.

Padmé.

All the iterations of her existence, from the young wartime Queen, to the embattled Senator, to the rebellious fugitive coalesced into a single determined being – a soul with a mission and a duty.

She stepped forward.

V'ar was leaning over the console, opening her mouth to issue an order. Padmé placed a hand on her shoulder. V'ar stopped and looked at Padmé curiously.

"Open a channel to Nowhere," Padmé ordered. "I must speak with Obi-Wan. We need to know exactly what is going on before we arrive. Then re-open communications among the flotilla and have all ships check in."

V'ar paused before responding, as though she first had to take cognizance of who stood before her.

Padmé's hand remained firmly on V'ar's shoulder. "Our fighters are away. Our presence is known. We have nothing left to hide."

"Yes, Ma'am," the Jedi murmured at last. The expression on her face might have masked a fleeting smile.

x

In the absolute privacy of his Master's Cabin on the _Victorious, _Darth TyrannusCount Dooku of Serreno, an articulate, highly educated man known throughout the Galaxy for his eloquence, struggled to find the right words.

Or whether to say them.

It was of course always best to allow his Master to initiate and to carry all of their conversations. It was unthinkable to challenge the wisdom of his decisions. But since dismissing the visibly uncomfortable and hostile Captain Tarkin, Darth Sidious had not said another word. He sat quietly opposite Dooku, seemingly lost in thought.

Was he waiting for something? Or someone? Was he pleased? Displeased? It was impossible to tell.

Dooku, too, sat quietly where he had been bidden while his inner questions burned. He still didn't understand why Sidious had made such a bold move as to bring him – _Count Dooku! Leader of the Separatist movement!_ – onboard a Republic battleship.

It didn't make sense. And nothing had been explained to him.

Sorting through dozens of possible opening gambits, he discarded each one in turn. Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, he settled on a question that seemed innocuous enough not to cause offense or to sound like a challenge.

"Who is this Tarkin?" he asked, with carefully constructed composure. "I don't know him."

"You have been in the Outer Rim too long, my friend," Sidious replied.

"I go where you send me, My Lord."

"Indeed."

When it seemed that his Master was not going to say more Dooku ventured, "You trust this man?"

Sidious smiled faintly. "Tarkin believes that he has the honor of hosting a secret summit meeting aimed at ending the war. He is clever and ambitious, and therefore, loyal to a fault."

"Is the war to end here, then?" Dooku asked uneasily, though he felt he had the right to ask. "Our plan was to move on Coruscant."

"Much will depend on the outcome of this battle."

_I still don't understand, _Dooku wanted to say, but he held his tongue. The only thing worse than challenging his Master, was to appear stupid in front of him.

"I have done everything you asked," he said, with the appropriate humility. _Everything you asked, _he thought bitterly, _and so much more… you could not have achieved all this without me… _Why was he being left out of his Master's plans? Something was not right. Something…

"Let us meditate together," Sidious said with unnerving prescience. "I have much to show you."

Dooku's frame of mind improved immediately. It was a great honor, and rare one, to be allowed to share his Master's visions in meditation. This time, perhaps, he would be shown more than the fragments that he had been allowed to see in the past. They were so close to the completion of their plans…

With the grace and efficiency that characterized everything he did, Dooku sank into the state of altered consciousness that was his bulwark and his nourishment. Willingly, even greedily, he sought the touch of his Master's mind.

The first touch of their fusion felt like immersion, like diving beneath the endless, heaving surface of the sea. In the faraway part of his mind that remained his own, Dooku braced himself for what was to come. He had experienced it before, but it was difficult to prepare for…

_Ahhhh! _

The bottom dropped away from his awareness, leaving him with the sensation that he was plummeting into an endless chasm. He fought the vertigo, steadied his mind and opened his senses to the unification of time and space.

Intricate, exquisite lines of meaning and causality appeared, stretching from the distant past to the present moment and activating all of his senses. Awestruck, he experienced in an instant all of the countless connected actions, events and movements that cascaded forward, ever forward; creating, shaping, and forming the _now. _

The inevitable _now._

He understood. Everything that had happened, everything that occurred had taken place with the sole purpose of creating the present moment. It could not be otherwise. It was as it should be. From the perspective of the past, _every _present moment was the One Point of certainty… _every one_…

He wanted to weep with the grandeur and perfection of the infinite logic of existence, but his Master's visions left him no rest.

He was compelled to follow the lines of influence and inevitability away from the crystal clear past, away from the power of the present moment, and toward the future, where the lines of destiny became less straight, less congruent, and …less clear.

The future… no, the future was not clear at all.

_Come closer, _his Master commanded. With an effort, Dooku moved toward the shadowy place where clarity faded. The lines he followed bent and began to curl around themselves, forming a kind of vortex. People and events spun around the rim of the vortex in the way matter circulates around the rim of a black hole… swirling, circling… the center but a vast nothing… until out of the center something began to form.

Something.

It was indistinct at first – a shape or a shadow – but as the players circled, the shape slowly morphed into figure. The figure of a man. Something about that single, central image resonated in his memory. It was familiar, but not reassuring. Not at all.

He stared at the man and remembered that he hated him; that he had tried, and failed, to destroy him.

_Skywalker. _

At the center.

_Do you see? _Sidious' thoughts urged. _Do you see?_

Dooku did see. He saw that he had been wrong – about a great many things. He had believed that all of the battles that he and his Dark Master had fought together – political and military, great and small – had been fought for control of the Galaxy. He understood, finally, that the true prize, the final victory, was _control of the Force._

The images faded, signaling the end of their meditation. Dooku slowly opened his eyes and stared at his Master wordlessly.

Sidious leaned forward, his eyes glittering unnaturally. "I need you by my side, my friend! The end of our long struggle for dominance has come at last. The Jedi are massing against us on the other side of this conflict. We must combine our powers – the powers of the Sith – to defeat them."

"And… Skywalker?" Dooku managed to infuse the name with pure contempt.

"He is here. Without him, they are no match for us."

Dooku frowned. "You are that certain of him?"

"I am that certain of _you_, Lord Tyrannus."

Dooku's fear dissipated.

"Then," he said, speaking from the darkest corner of his heart, "it will be my pleasure to destroy him."


	36. Chapter 35 The Battle for Nowhere

**Chapter 35. The Battle for Nowhere **

Nothing they had ever known – not even the bloody conflicts that had driven them from their homes – could have prepared the fighter pilots of Esh-Col for the utter mayhem that was the Battle for Nowhere.

Planetary battles have a fundamental orientation – planet below; sky and space above. A planet provides varying terrain. Hiding places. Vantage points. In a planet-based battle, all the senses came alive – the sense of hearing, of touch; even of taste, when the air is full of dust and ozone and the water runs with blood and sludge.

In space, there are no hiding places. In space, there are no vantage points. In space, emplacements are theoretical and battle lines are invisible.

The Battle for Nowhere was a vast dance of searing laser light, fought in an endless nothingness. Approaching the war zone in space without contact from Nowhere's command headquarters – _not yet_, Anakin had insisted – the Pilots of Esh-Col could perceive no pattern in the fighting, nor any entry point to it. It felt like diving into an asteroid belt that didn't know whether it was exploding or imploding – a lawless, frenzied, surefire place to get killed.

Even more disheartening than the chaos, through, was the absence of a center, a _place_. There was no haven. There was no shelter. There was no home. The shining city of their dreams was gone. There were only more ships than the mind could count, fighting in an endless void, for something that could not be seen or felt or touched.

As it was being fought in space, the battle was also eerily silent. The only sounds the Pilots could hear were voices over the comm. and the faint, familiar noises of the machines that brought them hurtling closer into the fray. They absorbed the scene in a collective silence that was unusual for those long-time friends and brothers in arms. They merely stared at the disaster ahead, keeping their thoughts to themselves, and waited for orders from the man who had brought them to this place to find…

"Where is it?" Bram finally asked for all of them. His voice over the comm. seemed loud in the hush. "Where is Nowhere?"

Anakin laughed – a sound that was even more alarming than Bram's question. "It's out there. You see all those ships in the defense line? That's Nowhere. All those people made a city out of nothing. Then somebody came along and decided to stomp on it. They're fighting back, that's all. Nowhere is… it's an idea. We can re-make Nowhere anywhere, once the fighting's done. It doesn't matter where. That's the beauty of it."

"Nice speech, boss." Bram said dryly after silence had fallen again. "But what are we supposed to do about that?"

'That' was a cone-shaped formation on the scan screens that suddenly seemed to be closing directly on them, so fast that the shapes already were visible to the eye.

"It's a recon group. Scout ships. Split up the squadrons," Anakin ordered instantly. "Up and over. Blue, cut right. Gold, cut left. Red squad, follow me!"

"Yes, Boss… I mean, Red Leader." Bram said with barely suppressed, clearly audible excitement. "See ya' on the other side!"

"You'd better, Gold Leader," Anakin snapped. "No stunts. Just get past them. The real fight is far up ahead."

x

One man's chaos is another's intricate pattern. Fortunately for the embattled defenders of a small sector of Corellian space, General Obi-Wan Kenobi was a seer of patterns. His gift was to find meaning in the seemingly random, and to grasp instantly the significance of unexpected factors in a larger whole.

Sometimes it didn't feel like a gift – especially when lucid perception was not accompanied by the power to act.

This was one of those times.

The droid onslaught had swamped Nowhere's carefully constructed defense net in short order. The forward prong of the Separatist invasion – the lead force at the center – by itself had arrived with enough weight and power to cut a track through a whole star system. To the credit of Obi-Wan's forces the attackers' forward movement had been slowed considerably. But like a rushing flood hitting a solid barrier, the flow of enemy destruction could not pass through the defenses. Instead it circled around on itself like a massive whorl, dragging anything that was loose or weak with it, only to turn and attack again. Pounding against the barricade with every turn, droid ships seeped through every opening that presented itself, rapidly widening small rifts into great open ruptures in the net. The resulting pattern was like a series of violent rapids – chaotic, frenzied and deadly.

It was all Obi-Wan could do to steer his unequally skilled troops through the battle at hand. The professional soldiers and a gratifying number of the amateurs proved tough, smart and flexible enough to stand up against whatever came their way. Many of the others, though, showed signs of panic and confusion. The speed and implacability of the enemy caught them unawares; they could not adjust to their losses. Obi-Wan and his bridge crew spent precious time that they could not afford talking hapless field commanders through relatively minor skirmishes.

Knowing, as he did, that the other two prongs of the trident were still on their way and that they were just as powerful as the first, Obi-Wan had recalled Pell and other seasoned commanders to the _Intrepid's_ bridge to talk the less experienced of the field leaders through the confusion around them, much like traffic controllers in a violent storm. It was a desperate move given that the _Intrepid's_ scanners were still being intermittently blocked – Obi-Wan was certain now that the blocking came from the _Victorious_, but he was in no position to do anything about it – so that Pell and the others frequently had to command from afar by comm. alone without benefit of the bigger picture.

The noise and confusion on the battle bridge from a multitude of voices shouting at the same time was deafening. Temporarily freed from the job of directing front line tactics, Obi-Wan separated his consciousness from the noise as much as he dared. It could not be allowed to divert him from his greater responsibility. Soon – very soon, by the looks of things – that responsibility would narrow down to the necessity for a single decision: at what point to accept defeat and to order his people to retreat.

Not _whether._

_When._

The barrier – his central defense – could not hold as currently deployed. None of his promised reinforcements had arrived. Even if he pulled out all the stops and used every last resource – even if his field commanders held together and their troops fought with supernatural resolve – the arrival of only one additional separatist attack force would quickly finish off Nowhere's remaining defenses. And there were two such additional forces on the way – the outer prongs of the trident.

What could be gained by allowing his people to be destroyed? Nothing.

He needed to know how much time they had remaining.

At his first opportunity, Obi-Wan released himself from the thrall of the scanners and the myriad demands for his attention and allowed his consciousness to enter into the Force. There were fewer ghostly Jedi on the Bridge than there had been initially. He wondered in passing where they had gone, but there was no time to linger on such thoughts. As accurately as he could, he formed a mental picture of the battle zone. The real space images quickly blurred into abstractions. Good. He needed to see the patterns, not the details. Obi-Wan let go of everything but the sense of the outlines that unfolded in his mind's eye without the constraints of dimension or real time.

Somehow he was not terribly surprised when everything seemed to revolve around one single locus – a place that was an inky black hole in his awareness. He had perceived such 'places' before in his meditations. As far as Obi-Wan could tell, this one appeared more or less in the location of the _Victorious_.

_It _was on the _Victorious._ _It._ The Source of the darkness.

What does _It_ want? Obi-Wan asked himself. What is _It_ planning to do?

His silent questions set the images in his mind into motion. Something was coming toward the Victorious … and then it began to move. _I knew it! I knew she would engage eventually… but at what point…_

_Look, Padawan!_ Qui-Gon's voice insisted inside Obi-Wan's consciousness.

The picture in his mind widened out so that he saw the entire battle arena. The right and left prongs of the separatist trident were speeding up, pulling ahead fast. Oh, that wasn't good. That alone would force their retreat almost immediately…

_No, Padawan, look…_

"General!"

The images in Obi-Wan's mind vanished the instant the insistent voice right by his ear wrenched him back into his normal consciousness. _Damn and blast!_ He still needed to… He opened his eyes to see Pell shoving a small voice-only comm. unit into his face. "What is it, Captain?"

"Urgent message, General … correct codes…"

Pell was grinning. Why was he grinning? The man should not have left his post. Obi-Wan snatched the device from the Captain's hand and pointed imperiously at Pell's assigned position. The little Captain backed away, that annoying grin still on his face. "Kenobi here!" Obi-Wan snapped. "Who …"

"Sorry we're late, Obi-Wan."

_V'ar. _"V'ar!" That meant… _Anakin._ The Jedi in Obi-Wan struggled against a sudden, irrational surge of relief. There was nothing to be relieved about. Anakin was too late. The battle was all but lost.

Before he could answer, an unexpected voice chimed in, "Our small battle group is at your service, General. Only, we have a few civilians who need shelter. Please advise about the safest location for them."

"Padmé! What in the moldering sinkholes of hell are you doing here? It is not safe …"

The musical laugh that floated out the comm. made Obi-Wan instantly regret his language.

"Rest assured that V'ar agrees with you, Obi-Wan. I'm open to suggestions. But I need to secure my people. Please advise."

Obi-Wan didn't realize that he had been biting his lip until he tasted blood. "_My people."_ she'd said, as if she were the commander in chief – as if she intended to go into battle with them! This was all Anakin's fault, without a doubt… what was he thinking?

"Where is he?" Obi-Wan bellowed. "Where is Anakin?"

Half the bridge crew looked up, startled.

"On his way to you," Padmé said calmly. "Your scanners should have picked up his signal long ago."

Obi-Wan glared balefully at the blank screen on his console. As if to mock him, the main scanner on the command bridge suddenly sizzled into life again, raising ragged cheers from around the bridge. A quick glance showed a substantial fleet approaching from the side nearest the _Victorious,_ including a surprisingly large squadron of fighters.

Somewhat appeased, Obi-Wan muttered, "Sorry. Scanner problems. Tell Anakin to make contact immediately." He took a breath. "We've sent our civilians back to Talus. Take yours there. And go with them, Padmé!"

"Don't worry, Obi-Wan," Padmé said gently. "This is not an ending. It is a beginning. Stand by for V'ar."

_A beginning._ Obi-Wan stared at the small metal communicator in his hand. He had thought the same not long before, when his bridge had been brimful with the souls of departed Jedi. Now he was no longer so sure.

A shout went up from the front of the bridge. Obi-Wan blinked at the scanner, only to see a replay of the images he had visualized just before Pell had interrupted him. Ahead of the Separatist invaders' left prong, the one nearest the _Victorious _and Anakin's battle group, droid scout formations already dotted the screen. The _Victorious_ was in range to destroy them all, but she did nothing… nothing!

Obi-Wan clutched the comm. link. "V'ar!" he yelled. "Warn Anakin… those torpedoes are smarter than they look!"

x

…_he said the torpedoes are smarter than they look… take care, Anakin. _

Always.

As Padmé's presence once again withdrew from his mind, Anakin took a fresh, hard look at the pyramid formation of droid ships just ahead.

"Fall back," he ordered. "Everyone fall back. I'm going to try something."

"But Boss…"

"Now!" Anakin spat. "Never question an order. It'll get you killed."

"Copy, Red Leader." Bram was suddenly all business. Gold and Blue groups peeled away to either side; Red Group hung back while Anakin shot straight toward the nearest droid ship formation…

… and practically danced his tiny ship in front of it.

Nothing happened.

The Pilots held their collective breaths.

Anakin's tiny ship danced closer… and fired.

"Hellshine! What is he doing?"

"Shut up, Blue Leader," Bram snapped tensely.

The lead droid ship – the point of the pyramid – instantly returned fire.

Anakin flew a zigzag. The missile streaked after him, reproducing Anakin's path in red against the blackness beyond.

"And he tells us not to pull any stunts…"

"I said, shut up!"

The faraway speck that was Anakin's ship suddenly pulled into a sharp loop and doubled back straight into the path of the oncoming torpedo. A violent explosion made every pilot flinch. Many cried out.

Another, much larger explosion followed. The flash cloud and the debris made it impossible to see what had happened.

Then there was silence.

In a few moments – endless moments – Anakin's ship emerged from somewhere near the flashpoint. The missile had vanished. The lead ship of the formation was gone. The remaining droid ships listed in space, inert.

"I thought so," Anakin said cheerily over the comm. "New tactic. Form up in threes. Concentrate your fire on the lead ship in each formation. No big deal – think of it as target practice back on the buttes."

"He sounds like he's enjoying this," someone muttered indistinctly while the entire squadron hastily formed up as ordered.

"Shut up!" Someone else hissed. It wasn't Bram this time. Every pilot was caught up the tension – and yes, the excitement – of the moment.

"Go!" Anakin ordered, and the Pilots of Esh-Col, carefully arranged in small, widely spaced groups, swarmed toward their targets.

x

The main scanner screen on the _Intrepid_ seemed to be working for the moment. Obi-Wan studied the composite display and frowned. Unlike the others on the battle bridge, he was not heartened by the arrival of the fleet from Esh-Col. Like the rest of Obi-Wan's troops, it was variable and unpredictable. He wasn't familiar with its commanders and their capabilities, except…

Obi-Wan's frown deepened. Brazenly, Anakin hadn't even bothered to check in. Obi-Wan wouldn't have known that Anakin was among the newcomers if it hadn't been for Padmé … other than the evidence on the scanner screen, of course.

The left prong's scout formations were almost all gone, picked off by a very efficient deployment of fighters.

Anakin was behind that, all right.

It would have been nice if he'd had the courtesy to coordinate his actions with Obi-Wan. Did he intend to continue fighting his own battles without regard for Nowhere defense's overall tactical imperatives?

That would be just like him.

At least Padmé had done as Obi-Wan had asked. A significant section of the fleet from Esh-Col had broken off, re-formed, and was moving out of the battle zone in the direction of the heart of the Corellia System. Bending over the console, Obi-Wan reassured himself that the ship he had tagged as Padmé's was among that group. There it was – right in the middle. Good. Obi-Wan would have loved to have had V'ar's help, but it was advantageous to have her at the Senator's side. Knowing she was safe, maybe Anakin wouldn't do anything rash…

But perhaps it wouldn't matter. Even if by some miracle Anakin's small fleet could successfully hold off the left prong, the right was almost upon them. Nowhere's central defense was on its last legs. He could have done more with orderly, well-trained, tactically superior clone troops; but even though the denizens of Nowhere were pouring heart and soul into the battle, they would never be able to withstand the Separatist armies.

It was all too late…. he needed to organize their retreat. The Battle for Nowhere was over.

Something hard rapped Obi-Wan across the knuckles. He flinched and looked down at his hand. There was nothing there – not even a mark.

_I told you to look, Padawan!_

Irritated, Obi-Wan scanned the bridge. In his current state of narrow focus on the battle he saw nothing exceptional – no Jedi. No stern former Master. Maybe he had begun to imagine things.

The main scanner screen began to flicker again.

"Any word on what is blocking our scanners, Ensign?"

"I can't work out the pattern, Sir, but the source is definitely the Victorious. We're successfully anticipating and blocking their countermeasures fifty percent of the time."

"Keep up the good work, Ensign. Priority on the main screen."

"Aye, General."

Obi-Wan took a deep, steadying breath. "Heads up, everyone. Prepare to for retreat."

His knuckles received another invisible rap, harder than the first.

_Ow!_

"You sure about that, Sir?" Pell sang out. "Looks like we might have a little reprieve."

The main scanner screen fizzled out, leaving Obi-Wan staring at a blank. A second later a deep, gravelly voice boomed out over the Intrepid's comm. net.

"Need any help, General?"

A sudden, breathless hush fell over the battle bridge.

Obi-Wan ruefully rubbed his pristine knuckles. "What are you offering, Master Windu?"

"A heavy task force of the Republic's finest. We just happened to be in the neighborhood."

Through the wild cheer that erupted around him, Obi-Wan said calmly, "I'd appreciate your taking care of that right prong, Master. And if you can spare a few cruisers, my center defense needs shoring up."

"On the way," Mace rumbled. "Windu out."

It seemed the battle was to go on.

_I told you to look!_

Obi-Wan turned to the Comms. officer. "See if you can hail the lead ship in that fighter squadron that just joined us. Skywalker, his name is. Use any method at your disposal to get through. Hack their comms. if you have to. Tell him… tell him that if he doesn't contact me right away, I will personally see to it that his next few breaths are his last."

The Comms. officer's eyes widened, and then he quickly looked away. "Aye, Sir. Contacting Skywalker. As ordered."

**x**

To all outward appearances, the _Victorious _was a shining example of the newest class of Star Destroyers. Unlike others of her class, though, the _Victorious_ had been built to certain secret specifications known only to a very few.

Not only were her navigation and weapons systems the most advanced available, but her sensor capabilities were beyond anything else in the Republic's arsenal. Her structural design also was unique in that it allowed for secret passageways and spaces whose purpose even the _Victorious'_ elite officers and crew were not allowed to know. They knew only that a certain central sector of the ship was off limits to anyone but the Captain or his specific designees.

One such restricted compartment on the _Victorious,_ as veiled as any dark temple, contained a nerve center so well equipped that it could have served as a secondary battle bridge. All transmissions to the _Victorious_ appeared there; any transmissions that flowed from that location never were questioned.

The duly elected leader of the Galactic Republic and the leader of the Republic's enemy, the Confederation of Independent Star Systems, stood side by side in their sanctum watching the progress of a key battle in the destructive civil war they had devised together. The sophisticated apparatus around them provided a satisfying overview of the destruction outside.

For the moment, these men had put aside the masks of their worldly stations. In place of the widely-known leaders stood only two Sith Lords. For such men, the equipage of information and directed action that surrounded them was secondary. Their apparatus of choice was the Force.

"I gather you did not order reinforcements to this sector," Lord Tyrannus observed, watching the mighty _Leviathan_ and her battle group move into position.

"I did not." Sidious turned away from the scanners to face his companion. "Do you know who that is?"

"Of course, my Lord. That is Master Windu."

No mere scanner, however sophisticated, would have told him that.

Sidious nodded, satisfied. "Just so." After a pause he added, "The Jedi are massing against us."

"Indeed my Lord." Lord Tyrannus took a breath. "Have we revealed too much of ourselves?"

"All is revealed in the Force," his Master said cryptically. "One only needs the ability to see."

Lord Tyrannus had many questions, but instead chose to sidle away to safer topics. "Given the new reinforcements, the weakest link in the rebels' defense is the odd civilian fleet. They cannot survive long, especially since nearly a third of their number has turned away from the battle toward Corellia."

"Perhaps." There was a sense of suppressed excitement about Darth Sidious. His eyes glittered. Lord Tyrannus had the sense that his Master's attention was less on the battle than elsewhere.

It was not difficult to infer where. Sidious was searching for Skywalker.

Lord Tyrannus almost imperceptibly shifted his weight from one foot to the other to ease the strange sense of pressure that had troubled him since his arrival on the _Victorious_. It was a dangerous game they were playing, as always – _when do we not play with fire?_ – but this time it was a game that he did not fully understand. It was an altogether unpleasant feeling. In every other sphere of his life Darth Tyrannus was the undisputed Master. Only Darth Sidious could keep him uncertain and off-balance.

Sidious reached for the comm. unit that connected him directly and exclusively with the _Victorious'_ Captain.

"What progress on breaking into the rebels' communications network, Captain Tarkin?"

"We are almost there, Your Excellency. Our interference with their scanners has yielded the data necessary to extrapolate their encryption sequences."

"Good, Captain. I want full access to all rebel communications the moment it becomes possible."

"Of course, Sir. At once…"

"Captain Tarkin."

Lord Tyrannus looked up at the sudden poisonous edge in Sidious tone.

"Y-yes, Your Excellency?"

Obviously the Captain had heard it, too.

"We do not know who these people – these civilian fighters from Esh Col – are. Most likely they are harboring traitors and spies among their numbers. While most will face their destiny in battle, some are fleeing into neutral territory." He paused to audibly suck in his breath. It sounded like a hiss. "The security of the Republic requires that they be seized and held for investigation and processing. If they fight back… well, there are many misfortunes in war, are there not?"

"Indeed there are, Your Excellency!" The fear in Tarkin's voice had instantly turned into something else. _Pleasure,_ Lord Tyrannus thought.

Good man. His Master had always been a good judge of character.

"Crush them, Captain Tarkin." Lord Sidious commanded. "Wait until their fighter escort is fully engaged in the battle, and then crush them."

"As you command, Your Excellency. It will be done."

_Yes,_ Lord Tyrannus reflected. It _had_ been pleasure in Tarkin's voice.

x

"Padmé." V'ar said her name awkwardly, as if she still felt uncomfortable using it. "You had better tell me what is troubling you."

Padmé stared out into space blindly, seeing nothing. Her awareness had been turned inward since her last contact with Anakin, searching for clues to the misgivings that had haunted her ever since – doubts that grew heavier and darker the further she moved away from him.

She had shared many of his emotions in that last contact – excitement, determination, worry – all understandable, but none had predominated or seemed overwhelming. In fact, Anakin had seemed to have himself well in hand. Enviably so. Except…

Afterward she had thought, _there was something else… something underneath. _The thing she couldn't give a name to clung to her horribly.

She could hardly think about anything else.

"Padmé?"

Padmé shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. "I'm sorry. It's just that something feels wrong. Something… she frowned, trying to come up with a way to express it… something that Anakin is very aware of, but that he tries to hide from me."

To Padmé's dismay, V'ar didn't immediately disagree. Instead, she too fell silent for a time, staring off into the distance.

"V'ar?"

"You are right. There is something. We all feel it. It strikes into the heart of every Jedi, every Force-sensitive person. It is a quality of …darkness. A darkness in the Force. It permeates everything around us and in that battle arena." V'ar rubbed a hand over her face, revealing with that one aberrant gesture just how disturbed she was. "I can't think of another way to describe it."

"You don't have to." A white-hot jolt of unease shot through Padmé's body. A sharp, bright bolt of recognition – the culmination of all the thoughts that had been worrying her since the civilian fleet had separated from the fighters. "I shouldn't be here!"

"What do you mean?" V'ar's voice was taut and dry.

Padmé looked into her golden eyes and knew without a doubt that V'ar shared her misgivings. Even if she refused to admit it. "You know what I mean. I have a role to play in this – somehow. I don't know how. But I need to be near Anakin."

Lips tight, V'ar looked away, out the viewscreen and ahead, in the direction of the relative shelter of Corellia. "We planned this very carefully. Our job is to keep _you_ safe."

Padmé moved closer to the Jedi. "Why, V'ar?" she crooned. "Why must I be kept safe? Say it!"

V'ar refused to look at her. Finally, reluctantly, she whispered, "Because you keep Anakin in the light."

"And what am I doing now, V'ar?"

V'ar didn't answer.

"I'm leaving him behind, V'ar. I'm leaving him to fight this battle alone." She wasn't just talking about a battle with ships and weapons. V'ar understood that, too – Padmé was sure of it.

"He needs to know that you are out of harm's way," V'ar insisted after taking a suspiciously deep breath. "He can do his job better if he doesn't have to worry about you all the time."

"It is logical to hide me on Corellia. It is a rational plan …" Padmé was right next to V'ar now, forcing the Jedi to look down into her face, "... but V'ar, it is wrong. I know that now. I only wish I had realized it sooner."

V'ar began to shake her head. _No, no, no…_

"I have to turn back," Padmé said softly. "I have to."

"What could you possibly do there, other than get in the way or be destroyed yourself?"

Padmé shrugged. "I don't know, V'ar. But I need to be near him. I need you to find a way."

V'ar looked up, then down, then out the viewscreen. Anywhere but at Padmé. "No, My L… Padmé. I'm sorry. That I cannot do. We continue to Talus and then on to Corellia, as planned."

"V'ar, search your feelings!"

V'ar stopped shaking her head.

She took a deep breath.

Then she nodded, just once.

_Yes._

_It must truly be serious, _Padmé realized in a moment of perfect clarity, _if V'ar yields to this._

"Thank you, V'ar." Padmé had the impulse to hug her, but decided that was one boundary that shouldn't be crossed.

"Obi-Wan is going to kill me," V'ar said mournfully, activating the comm. link to the bridge.

"Don't worry," Padmé said cheerfully. "Anakin used to say that all the time, too, and I'm sure he deserved it more than you. And look where he is now!"

The look V'ar gave her instantly banished all cheerfulness.

"Sorry," Padmé muttered. "It's easy to forget that you're a Jedi."

"About full," V'ar ordered into the comm. "Tell the rest of the flotilla to continue on." She shot a glance at Padmé and added for the benefit of the incredulous pilot, whose shouted protests Padmé could hear at a distance without aid of the comm., "We will find our own way."

x

To Obi-Wan's tired eyes, the body, the shape of the battle appeared on the scanners like a great, groaning beast that stretched first one way, and then another. Master Windu's powerful onslaught against the right prong had bent the creature's limbs on that side away from the center, practically doubling them back in preparation for cutting them off entirely.

That left the beast's belly, the area at the center, more vulnerable. It was the perfect time for a series of strikes against the weakening middle prong; but Obi-Wan's resources were geared toward the defensive tactics that he had drilled into them. Even augmented by some of Windu's sharp and ready attack force, Obi-Wan's main body of troops – the ones that formed his wavering net – could not be rallied into uniform attack formation easily or quickly. If the tide of the battle turned and they needed to re-make their defenses, that would take a long, inefficient time, too.

But his greatest worry was the left prong of the invasion. It had accelerated, of course. The Separatist commanders had assessed his situation accurately. Most of what he had to deal with it was in the form of Anakin's – presumably it was Anakin's! – relatively small and motley fleet. Their advantage was their very efficient fighter squadrons – Obi-Wan had nothing like that to work with elsewhere – but Obi-Wan worried that it wouldn't be enough, and that they would be destroyed before Windu could finish off the right prong and come to help.

That was the thing about a beast, he reflected mournfully, just before the main scanner linked out for the fifth time in as many minutes – whatever its species, a beast had the ability to centrally command all parts of its body without needing time to think or to re-group.

Droid armies could do the same.

Droids might not think, but they certainly could synchronize their movements! No wonder many, even on the Republic side, thought droid armies were the way of the future. They would always be easier to command than armies consisting of associations of independent beings – no matter how motivated.

_And that is why the Republic is so quickly being overrun by these unthinking armies. Free action takes time and leads onto unpredictable paths._

Obi-Wan felt as if, no matter how hard he worked to bring his forces together into effective synchronicity, his job felt more like holding onto a basket of bugs, each one crawling in a different direction.

"Sir!"

"General!"

Two officers shouted for Obi-Wan at the same time. Obi-Wan snapped into focus. Holding the Nav. Officer at bay with a raised hand, he pointed to the Comms. Chief. "Do you have him?"

"Yessir!" the man was excited. "It's an obsolete channel – it's open on your link, General."

"But General!" The Nav. Officer persisted as the main scanner screen display appeared once again.

"Obi-Wan held his palm up toward the Nav. Officer, once again stopping him mid-sentence. "Good job! Now hold on…"

His comm. crackled. "Anakin?" The static continued while he quickly searched the left side of the scanner display for any indication of Anakin's location. By the best of will he couldn't pick him out of the crowd.

"I got your message word for word. It's nice to be appreciated."

"Why haven't you checked in?" Obi-Wan barked.

"Busy here." Even the bad link picked up the unmistakable sound of laser fire. "Very busy… helping you."

"Anakin – listen – we need to coordinate..."

"Nothing to coordinate. I see what needs doing. I'm doing it. Signing off."

"Wait!" When all he got was static, Obi-Wan snapped at the Comms. Chief, "Don't close that channel!" The link must still have remained open on Anakin's end, too, because fragmented voices could be heard on the other end calling out to one another.

The pilots, evidently.

Then Anakin's voice could be clearly heard in the background giving orders… "all right, Blue and Gold, take the flanks. I'm going front and center. Follow my lead…" but he had no word for Obi-Wan.

"Anakin, by the seven hells," Obi-Wan roared into the comm., "I'm commanding these forces and I expect you to follow my direction!"

"Don't you get it, Obi-Wan?" Anakin's voice was suddenly loud and clear. "I'm not here. I was _never_ here. Now back off!" The static ended and the link went dead.

"I'm sorry, General," the Comms. Officer said dispiritedly. "I can't get him back."

On the large scanner display the left side of the beast stretched itself out, growing longer and longer, pushing into defended space and beginning to curve as though it were trying to find a foothold near Obi-Wan's defensive net. Without knowing the capabilities of Anakin's fighting group, Obi-Wan couldn't count on them. He had to find another way to defend the left flank.

He just hoped Anakin wouldn't get caught in the middle. He still didn't know exactly where in that hellish mess he was.

"General Kenobi!" The Nav. Officer shouted again.

_Basket of bugs. _

"Pell!" Obi-Wan called.

The little Captain was by his side in a flash.

"It's time for our last resort." Obi-Wan pointed to the display on the console in front of him. "Here, and here. We have to keep them from swinging around behind us."

"Aye, General."

Pell ran back to the tactical pit. Shouts of surprise and delight echoed around the Bridge when a substantial force of fighting ships – Corellian regulars, by the looks of the symbols on the screens – appeared out of nowhere from behind the struggling defense net, engaging head-on the encroaching hind leg of the Separatist Beast.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. Nowhere's sophisticated cloaking array had been put to good use hiding the last of his forces.

But they were the very last. He had nothing else in reserve. And thanks to Anakin, it seemed he didn't even have unequivocal command and control over all of his troops.

Obi-Wan looked sourly at the scanner display, which finally seemed to be holding onto a steady signal. _At least we are holding fast for the moment_ – Windu continued to make solid inroads on the right, and Obi-Wan's center line was bowed inward but not broken. On the left, though…

On the left, the oddest thing was happening.

While the Corellian regulars had joined with the remainder of the civilian fleet in a fierce effort to beat back the swift-moving left prong at its front edge, the prong itself – the leg of the beast, as Obi-Wan thought of it – began to lose some of its density. It looked…

"Are those scanners working all right?" Obi-Wan called out to the Nav. Officer.

"Perfectly, Sir. We haven't had an outage in some time. The interference seems to have stopped. But General, there is something else…"

"Wait…" Yet again Obi-Wan held up his hand to silence the agitated man.

The hind leg of the beast looked as though it was being chewed up from the inside. By bugs. Holes were developing everywhere, spreading wider and wider…

"That pestilent, feculent Separatist scum!" The Comms. Officer screamed suddenly. "General! Our comms. net – the whole thing – has been compromised! We're completely exposed!"

In the deafening silence that followed the Comms. Officer's outburst Obi-Wan stepped up to the main scanner display. At first he studied the position of droid control ship near the center of the display, but very quickly his gaze slid to another symbol, far to one side, that didn't even form part of the Droid Beast.

He looked at his crumpled Nav. Officer. "Not the Separatists, then?"

The Nav. Officer shook his head. "The scanner interference was a cover…"

Obi-Wan looked back at the display.

The _Victorious. _

She had begun to move.


	37. Chapter 36 The Third Way I

**Author's Note: Well, hello there! I know it has been along time between updates, but... is anyone actually still out there reading?**

**Chapter 36. The Third Way I **

To the newly-made fighter pilots of Esh-Col, what Anakin had asked them to do made about as much sense as if he'd asked them to leap off a cliff on a high-grav planet and trust that they would soar. He had asked them to fly straight into what their eyes and minds saw as a wall of enemy ships, and believe that they would come out the other side.

And then he'd gone in first…

…_straight_ in, with laser bursts exploding around him, trusting his squadron to cover him…and to follow.

"Aw, hell," somebody muttered, watching Anakin's bright yellow ship streak away. It was moving so fast and the scanner's static was so bad that they'd lose him to dark space in seconds if they didn't move fast.

So they did.

He hadn't even given them time to think.

They had flown like madmen just to keep up, covering one another as they flew hurtled though starbursts of laser fire, shooting back at twice the speed of thought. Almost before they had become conscious of it, they had arrived in the thick of a mass of gigantic vessels, watching enemy ships flash past them nose to tail as they streaked through the spaces between them.

There were so many of them.

"Split up!" Anakin had ordered over the comm., and the refugees-turned-freedom fighters obediently had spread out between the enemy warships, randomizing their speed and trajectories while doing their level best to look and move like nothing more interesting than motes of space dust or debris.

To their utter surprise, it had worked – for the most part. The calls of the wounded and dying had peaked just before their squadron slipped behind the invaders' forward perimeter. Once inside and spread out among the droid ships, the little fighters had been practically ignored.

One moment to breathe had been allowed, perhaps two; and then Anakin's voice had cut across the comms. again."_Form up in threes! ..."_

…and again, the pilots had been forced to suspend disbelief as they steeled themselves to do the seemingly impossible.

He had shown them in detail the cunning maneuvers and precisely targeted fire that could disable even the largest ships. They had practiced their teamwork over the plains of Esh-Col and in space until they could practically read one another's minds.

But the reality… the reality of having to fly and maneuver and form up and target and protect one another at feverish speeds in the narrow spaces amidst the nightmare forms of vast enemy ships … was too much to grasp. They couldn't think or speak. They could only act and react, trust, and follow in hard-bitten silence.

Belief only arrived when the first of the behemoths succumbed to impossible shots on weak points that no ship's designer could have imagined being so precisely targeted. The successful attackers watched in astonished silence as the giant ships began to list and roll. Some broke apart, pieces hurtling into their neighbors and increasing the carnage. So incredulous were the first successful pilots that they had nearly forgotten to get out of the way as the destruction took its course. A few died for their disbelief, smashed to oblivion by debris from the very ships they hadn't imagined they could destroy. Several more succumbed to retaliatory fire. After that, the pilots moved like charged particles in a vacuum chamber, straining the limits of their ships and their nerves in maneuvers that defied rationality but kept them alive, while increasing the havoc among the droid vessels exponentially with each pass.

Anakin seemed to be everywhere at once. If a shot failed, another might come out of nowhere, hitting the target with deadly accuracy. Lagging fighters found themselves quickly herded out of danger zones. Standard formations of three might unexpectedly be joined by a fourth on a particularly difficult target, only to have the bright yellow ship disappear just as quickly again.

Anakin himself seemed as elusive as his ship. The easy, accessible comrade from Esh-Col had vanished. He fought in silence, barking just enough terse orders over the comm. to direct the seeming chaos.

_That's because this is real,_ the ones who chanced to wonder about the change in Anakin's demeanor concluded. _Life and death. Here and now._ So they followed wherever he led, causing radical losses in the left prong of the droid invasion force.

Nearly half of it was gone before it ever reached Nowhere.

x

"Well, Padmé? You won. Now, where to?"

When Padmé didn't reply, V'ar turned to look at her, about to repeat her question, but then stopped, surprised. Padmé was curled up in an uncomfortable-looking seat with one hand tucked under her chin, seemingly deeply asleep at last – for the first time since they had left Esh-Col.

But the Force around her felt as if she was in deep meditation.

_Did_ Padmé practice meditation? V'ar didn't know.

She looked around for Padmé's ever-present Handmaiden, hoping for advice, but Dormé was nowhere to be seen. As soon as the decision had been made to return to the battle arena, Dormé had vanished somewhere into the ship, disapproval written all over her face. She had yet to return. V'ar didn't know how long Padmé had been asleep… or… whatever she was doing.

After hesitating briefly, V'ar decided to choose their destination without consulting with Padmé. The pilot and crew were already deeply upset by their ship's unescorted return to the least safe place in the Star System. They needed a specific objective to aim for.

_We can't just drift out here._

"Activate the scanners," V'ar murmured to the pilot. "Let's identify our options."

She didn't need scanners to know where she longed to be. On her own, nothing could have stopped her from being in the thick of the fighting with Anakin and the pilots, wherever they were. But she had Padmé to consider… baffling, stubborn, wholly unpredictable Padmé.

What was she going to do with her?

The scanner displays showed shifting bands of mayhem across a vast swath of space. There were no safe places--there were no 'places' at all. There was no haven anywhere, except…_perhaps_… V'ar's golden eyes unfocused briefly while she listened to the whispers that echoed through the Force. When her gaze sharpened again, she instantly zeroed in on a distinctive formation of ships near the bottom of the heaving scanner display.

She pointed to a tiny blip of light that lay behind the main lines of battle yet, somehow seemed to be near its center. "Is that the _Intrepid?_"

The pilot checked the readouts. "Yes," he affirmed, sounding suddenly happier. "General Kenobi's ship."

"Headquarters," V'ar murmured. "Perfect. If that doesn't satisfy her, I don't know what will." Decisively she added, "Set course for the _Intrepid._"

He already had. The man's relief was palpable.

V'ar wished she shared it.

"Shall I hail them?" he offered eagerly, his fingers already moving toward the comm.

V'ar took a breath, knowing just how unhappy she was about to make Obi-Wan. "You had better," she said resolutely. "Perhaps the General can spare us an escort..."

x

For Anakin, the firefight was a relief.

Every shot that hit its mark released a bit of the pent-up energy that made him feel as though he might explode. Every maneuver that strained his little fighter to its limits liberated some of the pressure that squeezed his mind and body like a closing fist. Every success, however small, felt like an inroad of sorts against the crushing weight of the invisible enemy… the familiar, oppressive sense of darkness that pervaded this place-that-wasn't-a-place … this Nowhere.

Anakin fought like a demon – an inhuman thing, one without boundaries or limitations of any kind – against the pervading gloom that seemed as though it could choke the Force itself.

Enough.

No more.

It couldn't choke _him_. Not now. Nothing could stop the Force from flowing through him. He was alight with the Force. He _was_ the Force. However difficult things became, he could not be stopped, because he had a lifeline… an incorruptible, unbreakable link to the place _beyond_ the darkness… anywhere.

Everywhere.

As long as it lay beyond.

He hadn't been entirely honest with Padmé. The link between them – the one that he had supposedly cut off so that he could concentrate during the battle – was as strong and bright as ever. He had only masked it a little. Her living presence lay warm and safe against his neck. The sense of her _being_ circled his chest, keeping his heart beating and allowing him to breathe. It kept him whole and strong.

Anakin fought to hold on to that feeling. That clarity. That _light_.

His real reason for obscuring the link with Padmé had been to shield her from his experience of the darkness; from the … violence… of the feelings it aroused in him. The closer they had drawn to Nowhere, the stronger the feeling of oppression had become.

How he hated it.

He had slipped once, and let his feelings loose. The experience had shaken Padmé badly. He would not let it happen again. He did not want her to witness the depth of his desire to destroy … _it._

Every shot he fired, he fired at his oppressor.

Every mindless, soulless droid ship that he decimated was but a marker on the pathway to his tormentor's obliteration.

He fought, and he fought and he fought.

He fought to break free.

x

"This is all wrong," Lord Tyrannus whispered under his breath, observing the decimation of a substantial portion of the droid invasion force's left wing. In his wonder, he forgot to be circumspect and spoke in an audible whisper.

In his anger, he remembered a fraction too late the caution he always exercised with the man with whom he watched the battle.

Darth Sidious stood looking at the scanner display as though enraptured. The faint, flickering light from the console reflected on the pale skin of his face under the cowl, hinting at terrible shadows. "What do you mean, Lord Tyrannus?" he asked softly.

Tyrannus felt himself grow pale over the flush of his anger. It was an odd feeling, and one he did not appreciate. He swallowed hard before attempting to speak.

"I meant only that it is unexpected that these… people… would so successfully resist this invading force, My Lord. This same droid fleet has flattened four star systems with only minimal losses."

"And yet these… _people_… are carving up your fine droids with the equivalent of rocks and sticks." Sidious pointed a pale, rock-steady finger at the scanner. "Especially here, on this flank." He paused. "You find their success unusual, my friend?" His voice remained soft and even. Lord Tyrannus, who feared nothing in the Galaxy, felt a faint wash of nausea.

"It is … _unexpected_… My Lord."

Sidious voice hardened suddenly. "Have you lived among your droid armies so long that you have forgotten the power of passion, Lord Tyrannus?"

With an effort of will, Tyrannus managed not to snarl. His voice was even when he replied, in a reprise that even he knew to be feeble, "I have done as you asked, My Lord. I have always done everything you asked of me."

"So you have," Sidious said shortly. "And yet… _look_. Look at your droid fleet now."

Tyrannus didn't reply. His fleet had not been destroyed; far from it. The Rebels were struggling badly, being pushed back again and again. The battle still could be won. _And yet… and yet… somehow I have let him down._

He knew failure when he saw it.

In ways that he did not yet understand, he had failed.

He could only wait to learn why and how it had crept upon him in this way.

"Do you know what _that_ is?" Sidious again pointed at the scanner, where the most vigorous prong of the droid invasion looked torn up, a skeletal remainder of the bludgeon that had destroyed entire star systems.

Tyrannus merely shook his head.

"_That_, my friend…"

… _oh, it is hateful when he uses that word in that tone…_

"… is a footprint in the sand."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickling, Tyrannus studied the display more closely. "Do you mean… Skywalker? You believe _he_ is behind this?"

"Yesssssss…" Sidious' answer was a hiss.

The comm. link leapt to life in the ensuing silence. "The enemy codes have been broken, My Lord. Details of the rebels' communications are ready for you."

Sidious only smiled.

x

"Boss, you there? Boss, we got trouble!"

Anakin was furiously dodging turbo laser fire when Bram called out over the comm. The signal was faint, but something in the man's voice hit a nerve.

"What's wrong?" Anakin grunted as soon as his lungs re-filled after a gut-crushing roll.

"The droids are closing up their formation, Boss. We're getting squeezed."

Anakin could see for himself that the spaces between the droid ships were growing smaller. "We knew they would. It's time to retreat and to re-group for another run. What's the problem?"

"We've got nowhere to go, Boss."

"Where are you, Bram?

"Near the perimeter. It's a combat zone. Seems the Nowhere people attacked. When we try ta' move outta here, they fire on us 'cause we're comin' at 'em from the droid side. They don't know who we are."

"Wait for me." Forgetting all about going unnoticed, Anakin gunned his starfighter to speeds it had no business reaching but reached them anyway. Dodging and weaving through the narrowing spaces among the droid ships, he swore an endlessly inventive string of heinous oaths with a fluency that would have shamed a Cixassian. Most of the curses were aimed at the man who had no doubt ordered Nowhere's forces to strike.

The man who had pleaded for coordination.

The man with every right to say "I told you so."

"Who is Obi-Wan?" Bram asked through the comm. after a pointed silence. Even over the bad link, the other pilots' voices swelled to a fever pitch in the background.

"Someone who didn't believe in us," Anakin growled. "Someone who didn't trust that we could deliver what we promised. Hang on. I'm nearly there."

Screams echoed over the comm.

Anakin shot out of the droid fleet like a beam from an ion canon, straight into the wildfire of a pitched battle between the interchangeable droid ships and the mismatched, unequal, unpredictable battle group that could only have come from Nowhere. Slipping between bursts of deadly fire, he flew a high, fast loop around the embattled area, destroying anything droid-related that happened to get in his way. He had no difficulty making the distinction. Apparently, many of the new arrivals from Nowhere could not. Many of Anakin's pilots got picked off the moment they emerged from among the droid ships. As fast as he was flying, Anakin too was regularly targeted.

_Amateurs_, he thought bitterly. _They wouldn't know coordination if it bit them._ They needed their hands held.

"Bram, pull everybody back among the droid ships for now," he ordered over the wide comm. "I'll see what I can do."

There was only one thing he _could_ do. He'd have to break silence and contact Obi-Wan.

There was no response from his local comm. link while he opened up the wider frequencies.

"Bram? Did you hear me?"

No answer.

The wider comm. link burst to life, clear and strong. "Kenobi here."

Anakin alternated channels. "Bram?" he called again.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan demanded. "Is that you?"

"Sorry Boss," another voice crackled over the pilots' link. "Bram's gone. He followed ya' out there, an' he's gone. They got 'im."

x

Far away on the transport ship _Patriot_, Padmé suddenly sat up straight, her eyes wide and glassy.

V'ar glanced over from the comm. where she was still trying to connect with Nowhere's central command. "What is it, Padmé?"

"I don't know…" Padmé sounded vague and subdued, as if she were far away. "Something happened…"

"To Anakin?" V'ar asked sharply, only to regret her lack of tact when Padmé seemed to crumple from the inside out.

"No!" Padmé moaned, and then again, "I don't know…"

"I'm sure he is fine." Ignoring the tug in her stomach that belied her words, V'ar went back to the difficult task of trying to get through to Obi-Wan on the comm. For some reason none of the links the Patriot's pilot had tried were accepting transmissions.

Padmé rubbed her eyes. "Where are we?"

"On our way back to the heart of Nowhere. As you insisted."

"How nice for us," a new voice snapped, and the missing Handmaiden emerged from the passageway just beyond the bridge. She had exchanged her rough robes for an efficient-looking one-piece garment, accessorized by a number of equally efficient-looking weapons. She handed a holster containing a pair of sleek-looking blasters to Padmé, who still looked dazed.

"Take this, My Lady."

Padmé merely nodded and laid the weapons across her lap without protest. With a brief, hard "_what's going on?"_ glance at V'ar – who only shrugged – Dormé sat down next to her mistress, casually but purposefully taking hold of her wrist near a pulse point and looking into her eyes.

"I'm through as far as the wider comms. net, but I'm only getting chatter. It's chaos. I can't get direct access to anyone, much less General Kenobi," the Pilot reported, his voice tight with anxiety.

Padmé kept staring straight ahead at nothing.

"All right," V'ar decided. "We will go back to basics. Transmit this text exactly as I give it to you on the emergency frequency…" She leaned over the pilot's shoulder to enter a series of numbers and symbols that would make sense only to one other person. If the Force was with them, the message would find its way to him.

x

Anakin's chest was so tight that every breath had to be a conscious act. The wall of oppression around him was closing in, pressing on his heart and his mind and even his will. He flew on instinct alone; a projectile, a beam of pure energy that could penetrate any defense and any target. Relentless forward motion had propelled him safely through the darkness thus far – the pure power of the will and desire to break through, to finish this, to come out on the other side. He was unstoppable. On his own, he could have slipped though the mass of deadly fire that surrounded him with the ease of thought.

But his squadron couldn't follow him without being destroyed. Anakin was forced to circle back toward the droid formation, skirting the vortex of destruction in the battle arena, waiting for help from Obi-Wan Kenobi – of all people – while the comm. crackled weakly.

Unable to go forward or backward, Anakin streaked around the battle arena in spirals, dodging, protecting and searching for a pathway out. With the fierce momentum that had propelled him toward his single-minded goal suddenly thwarted, the path he flew began to mirror the motion of the invisible darkness that circled him relentlessly.

Hefelt ready to explode.

Furiously he tried the faltering comm. again.

x

Every shred of skill Obi-Wan had gained in a lifetime as a Jedi was barely enough to maintain simultaneous awareness of all the people and events that competed for his attention. There was no way to prioritize; in the crisis of the battle, they were all equally important. He fought hard to hold it all together; to keep his balance. The lives and future of countless beings depended on his equanimity.

The relief he felt when Anakin finally broke silence again rocked his precarious calm.

"Anakin," he demanded, making a huge effort to keep desperation out of his voice. "Where are you?"

"Trapped," Anakin spat through the static. Obi-Wan's heart lurched despite his tight inner control. "Your people have us pinned…"

"Got him!" the Comms. Officer crowed. Anakin's coordinates finally appeared on the main scanner screen.

He was practically inside the Droid formation, with Obi-Wan's own reserve Forces on top of him and cutting off his squadron's escape.

"Hold on, Anakin…"

"My people are dying here! Get off our backs!"

"People are dying everywhere!" Obi-Wan retorted. "Now hold!" He barked a few succinct, specific orders, and very quickly the scanner screen showed a visible path beginning to open through the reserve Forces near Anakin's position. An escape path.

"Anakin, get your squadron out now. Our reserves will cover you."

"We haven't finished what we started here! Just keep your people off us!"

"You've done enough, Anakin. I don't know how you did it, but you've practically destroyed a whole prong by yourselves. The reserves can take care of the rest…"

"Just let us finish this!"

He sounded desperate. Almost crazed. Obi-Wan's first rush of relief vanished. He hesitated, uncertain how to proceed.

x

On the _Victorious,_ two Sith Lords stood in silence, feeding on the vortex of dark power that they had raised.

One found it sweet; the other, for the first time in his life, bitter.

A wholly unexpected ray of light burst into Anakin's consciousness.

_Anakin! What's wrong?_

_Padmé… are you all right?… How … _

_I'm fine. Everything is fine. It's you… I heard you… I felt you…_

For a precious instant, space and time folded into one another, and it seemed to Anakin that Padmé was right there with him.

The pressure eased.

The feeling of a spectral hand on his shoulder and a familiar presence by his side gave Obi-Wan a sorely-needed boost of reassurance. He took a steadying breath, as one would when dismantling a detonator. _Easy does it…._

"You have done everything you can there, Anakin." Obi-Wan paused, treading lightly. "No one else could have done it." He swallowed, his mouth like dry ash. "Now I need your help to hold the center. It's coming apart. Get your people out of there. Bring them forward."

No answer.

"Please, Anakin."

Still no answer.

Every soul on the battle bridge turned to stare at Obi-Wan, as though for a moment, time had stopped. He did not notice. He only paid attention to the comm., and to the spectral presence that never left his side. It whispered to him. Then he said carefully, "Work with me, Anakin. We'll finish this _together_. Once and for all."

x

_Padmé, we lost… I lost… Bram… and so many more… _

_It's all right, Anakin. It's all right. They are all here because they want to be. They trust you. We all do… me, most of all._

_But Obi-Wan… _

_He needs your help, Anakin. We all do. Let's just finish this… so we can go home…_

_x_

The comm. link to the _Intrepid_ crackled with static but Anakin could feel, like a prickling on his skin, how intensely Obi-Wan awaited his answer.

_We shouldn't be connecting like this, Padmé. Not now._

_I'm not going anywhere. I want to stay with you._

So great was Anakin's need for her, that he capitulated.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan urged again over the comm.

"All right," Anakin agreed, subdued. "I'm on my way."

As if a spell had been broken, the battle bridge once again exploded into frenzied activity.

The Comms. Officer rushed to Obi-Wan's side. "This old-style message arrived over the emergency channel, General. It's an unknown code…"

Obi-Wan stared at it. Took it. Read it.

_P. refuses to leave the battle arena. _

_Bringing her to you. _

_Request escort._

There was no signature, and no need for one. He closed his eyes briefly. _Not again. Please, not again. _

The Force beside him shifted. _Courage, _it seemed to whisper.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and yelled for Pell.

x

When beside him Sidious suddenly blurred into motion and called for Tarkin, Lord Tyrannus tried with all his might to discern why. What had his Master perceived that he had not?

In vain he sought clues on the instruments on the console in front of him and in the Force.

The perfectly temperature-controlled air around him seemed to freeze.

Feeling lighter, Anakin rounded up his squadron and led them adroitly through the opening provided by the very ships that not long before had sought their destruction. Obi-Wan had kept his word. The allied ships under Obi-Wan's command protected every last one of the squadron's remaining ships, and quickly closed ranks behind the fighter group to shield it from the remaining droid ships. Relieved to be out of their entrapment, and crediting Anakin for their escape, the Pilots of Esh-Col followed him without hesitation along the invisible boundary between the invaders and Nowhere, through space that for the moment looked clear of fighting.

At least, to the Pilots it looked clear.

To Anakin, the empty space they traversed felt more dangerous than the battle arena behind them. On one side a huge, heavy wall of darkness moved relentlessly toward Nowhere; a black tidal wave of mounting power and fury, surging forward or ebbing back in response to the fluctuating energies that struggled to stop it.

Anakin knew that dark wave. He knew it well. Tendrils of memory and awareness deep inside his body resonated with its vibrations, even as he struggled to escape it.

Pushing back against the dark inundation on the other side was a ragged landscape of unconnected energies and activities – a cacophony of forces and feelings and intentions with little in common other than their palpable collective resistance to the looming darkness. That resistance – the drive to fight, to defend – resonated with Anakin's nature even more than did the darkness. He didn't want to be engulfed by it any more than they did.

But Obi-Wan had been right. Nowhere's forces were chaotic. The rebel fleet was dedicated and fierce, but it did not fight in unity. The dark forces had the advantage of perfect synchronization. It gave them enormous power.

"Up ahead, Boss," one of the pilots broke over the comm.

"I see it."

Anakin had perceived the battle in the Force long before the melee at the center of Nowhere's defense perimeter showed up on the scanners. The dark tide was gaining momentum. It was there, surrounding him no matter where he turned; the pure expression of a single abiding will.

_You will serve me._

If the comm. link to the others hadn't been open, Anakin would have screamed with rage.

Desperately he turned his awareness back to Nowhere's floundering defenses, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. The only way out for him was through their victory. He had no choice but to throw himself into their fight.

"How long you reckon they can hold out, Boss?" somebody asked. The picture that was beginning to reach their scanners was discouraging.

"Not long enough," Anakin muttered, but his attention was not on their destination. He knew that, like the image on the scanner, the battle in space was merely a flimsy representation of the _true_ battle. The real battle waited for no one. The Force was independent of time and distance. If there was to be any chance of marshalling enough combined strength to oppose the dark wave, to turn the tide, the way to fight and win did not lie in the battle up ahead. The time was _now_. The place was in the Force itself.

Driven partly by the terror of failure, but even more by his absolute, utter refusal to submit, Anakin hurled his consciousness beyond any sense of his body, his ship, or anything that was corporeal, allowing his mind and senses unfettered access to the Force. His ship continued on course. His body continued to fly it efficiently. But he, himself – with full awareness – leaped beyond it, into the essence of nature itself - the common linkage between all things that lived.

He became one with the Force.

x

Far away in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, the most ancient of the living Jedi Masters dropped his gimer stick and sank to his knees on the floor of the empty Council chamber. His small, hunched body breathed on in a profound state of meditation while his consciousness flew on wings of light into the eternal mystery that bound the universe together.

x

In the realm beyond ships and weapons, or space and time, the landscape that was Nowhere glimmered with thousands of individual points of light.

_Jedi._

The Jedi, living and dead, were massed in the Force to counter the darkness. The knowledge aroused neither sympathy nor antipathy in Anakin; he had leaped far beyond the mundane concerns of existence. He cared only for the light they brought, and for its potential in countering the darkness.

Anakin sank into that light and began drawing it toward him, breathing it into himself with an almighty effort of will, and then releasing it again into the void. The individual points and flares of light coalesced as they entered his heart and mind and consciousness, and then flowed away again in a vast mighty beam that spread out over the invisible landscape of Nowhere in a blinding wave.

But this wave in the Force was not an inundation from outside, as was that of the dark forces. It acted not as a will imposed from the outside, but as a reminder to each and every individual in Nowhere's forces of the will within.

Each individual's response as the wave of light washed over and through them was another spark lit, spreading ever outward as each individual consciousness surged up to meet the overarching flood, building into an avalanche of light.

The thousands of Jedi lights merged into one.

By the time the wave of light had spread to the furthest reaches of the Nowhere, a spectral Jedi hand rested on each and every rebel Pilot's shoulder, bringing guidance, encouragement, and a profound link with every other pilot in Nowhere's vast array of fighting forces. While most of the mortal pilots were unaware of the Jedi presence, each one experienced a heightened and related sense of tingling excitement, of clarity, of purposefulness, of confidence in knowing what must be done. Most did not understand that they were linked to one another, but it didn't matter. They began to fight in unison, as their enemy had all along.

Unlike the mindless, soulless enemy, they fought with excitement, passion, and a powerful new sense of hope.


	38. Chapter 37 The third Way II

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the outpouring of replies on the last chapter - it means a lot to me to know you're still out there and reading!

I know it has been far too long since the last post, but I promised I will finish the story - and I will.

So here is the next chapter!

------love, **geo3**

**Chapter 37. The Third Way II **

Count Dooku of Serenno, lifelong student of the Force and passionate seeker of the ultimate nature of the Truth, thought of reality as a vast prism with an infinite number of faces – glorious, immutable, and impossible to grasp in its entirety. How easily those shining facets deflected the light of understanding and reason! How often they were seen through the distortions of outlook, belief, and fear!

At best, most beings saw and understood only a few small sides of the truth of their existence.

Dooku, or Darth Tyrannus, as he liked to be known when it suited him, was convinced that he understood more about the nature of reality than almost anyone in the Galaxy. He had devoted his life, his inheritance, and his heritage to the pursuit of knowledge. Once one of the greatest Knights of the Jedi Order, he had leaped beyond the limitations of the Order's teachings into the dark abyss they feared. In doing so, he had found greater knowledge, greater power, and the ultimate vindication for his choices: the opportunity to use them.

He had lived the rare and wonderful life of a man who used and developed all of his capacities to their fullest. He had worked hard for a decade to achieve the culmination of that exceptional life… the opportunity to shape the Galaxy according to his own ideas and principles. He would create something magnificent, something that would live on forever… a mortal realm forged in the power of reason and honed by the power of might. This realm – a new iteration of the Galaxy –finally would bring the many distorted facets of the Truth together into a single, seamless whole.

It had been a glorious vision. A goal worthy of his exceptional abilities and talents. An aspiration he thought he had shared with the man who had taught him the Dark Arts and whose ambition exceeded even his own.

Until, that is, he had arrived _here._

Where was "_here,"_exactly? It was nowhere. A void in space. A coordinate on the Galactic map of interest only as a point on a path to Coruscant and final victory.

Standing side by side with his Sith Master, hidden away on a Republic Star Destroyer, he watched with mounting despair as completely new and unexpected facets of the Truth swam into view, like stars appearing when the clouds finally part.

He was beginning to think that his Master did not share his vision of the future after all.

Sidious seemed indifferent to the vast amounts of time and resources that had been lavished on the creation of the Separatist armies, or the logistical feats that had been required to execute this final, decisive invasion of the Core. He cared as little about the final outcome of this battle –victory was critical to the overall outcome of the war they had so carefully engineered – as he did about the fate of the rebels who had thrown themselves passionately against the invasion force.

As the Force mounted in power among the rebel insurgents, threatening to change the face of this battle and all the ones to come, Darth Sidious only seemed to grow more satisfied. He actually seemed … Dooku could hardly believe it… pleased.

"What about our plans?" Dooku wanted to shout. "This wasn't supposed to happen… why are you allowing it?" But he remained bitterly, warily silent, because the Truth he thought he knew had begun to show a different face.

When the rebel forces' vulnerable middle suddenly surged in strength, enough to decimate half the droid army's center prong before they could be ordered to regroup, Dooku couldn't bear it any longer. He had to get to the droid command ship. He had to lead bring some rationality and some wisdom to bear. He had to _win._ He turned to leave the hidden battle bridge.

A single word from Darth Sidious brought Dooku to an unwilling stop.

"Wait."

Dooku composed himself. "We can win, My Lord. The Jedi cannot stop us. We only need to change our strategy."

"The Jedi alone cannot," Sidious agreed. His face was fully hidden beneath his deep cowl. Dooku could not verify it, but he had the impression of … mirth?

"Then why wait?" Dooku demanded suspiciously. "We can still turn the tide."

"There are many ways that a tide may turn, _apprentice._ Be patient."

His answer confirmed Dooku's growing suspicions. Sidious did not care about the things that Dooku cared about. Perhaps he never had. _Nor does he value me – my skills, my achievements, my years of faithful service… _He seemed to care only about that one out there … Skywalker… the one who somehow had raised the Jedi from their centuries-long, self-righteous slumber.

Dooku saw nothing to fear in the Jedi resurgence. Rise up though they might, the Jedi would never cross the boundary that separated them from greater knowledge. They would never tread the darker pathways of the Force – the real pathways to true power. They might become a formidable foe, but _they would not prevail._ He could deal with them, if only he were allowed.

Yet his Master insisted on waiting.

When a holographic image of the odious Tarkin appeared before them on the console with the cryptic report, "Success, Your Excellency. The ship has been found," Sidious began to laugh out loud.

A ship? Sidious was concerned about a single ship in the enormity of this battle?

It occurred to Lord Tyrannus that the man he called Master might quite simply have gone mad.

x

V'ar and the _Patriot's_ Pilot were staring at the scanner screen in disbelief when Dormé called out in terror.

"V'ar! Something is wrong!" Dormé shouted as she slipped onto her knees to cradle Padmé's lolling head and slumped shoulders.

_I'll say,_ V'ar thought, but she was by the Handmaiden's side in a second, resting her hand on Padmé's clammy forehead. "What happened? She is quite unconscious."

"I don't know. She went under so quickly I barely caught her." Dormé propped her mistress' shoulders with one arm while checking her pulse with the other. "Her heartbeat is slow, but regular."

V'ar closed her eyes to listen inward. Something in the Force had changed. Something profound. She searched Padmé's Force signature and came away reassured. "She seems to be in a trance state of some kind. She is all right. You need to let her be. Just hold her."

The Handmaiden scowled at her, but didn't argue. V'ar hurried back to the console.

"There," the Pilot murmured, pointing a shaky finger at the upper corner of the screen. "it looks like…"

"… an attack formation, yes," V'ar finished for him, just as quietly. "Republic ships. The ones that have been standing by without engaging in the battle."

"Why would they do that?" The Pilot whispered with horror in his voice. "Why would a Republic task force leave the Corellians to fend for themselves against a Separatist invasion force, only to cross the boundary into the Corellia system to chase down a flotilla of refugees?" The picture on the scanner was clear. The refugee flotilla was being systematically and swiftly hunted.

"I don't know." V'ar studied the symbols on the screen and did a quick mental calculation. "They didn't send the entire task force. The _Victorious_ must have remained behind with an escort." The _Patriot's_ scanners did not reach as far as V'ar would have liked.

"They must have sent just enough ships to do the job," the Pilot muttered angrily.

"What's wrong?" Dormé asked from across the cabin.

V'ar held up her hand for silence. "What is our position?" she asked the Pilot.

"Roughly halfway there." He bit his lip. "We're far enough away from the flotilla not to be noticed, I think."

"Maintain course," V'ar ordered, and only then turned to face the Handmaiden whose silent displeasure filled the cabin. "It seems that Padmé's instincts to turn back were right. The refugee flotilla may not survive."

Dormé looked as if she wanted to jump to her feet, but Padmé's deadweight in her arms prevented her. "What?" she hissed. "We have to help them! We can't let anything happen to them …they're our _friends_!"

"What do you suggest we do?" V'ar asked quietly, knowing full well that there was nothing to be done. Nothing at all.

"Contact Nowhere… get them to send help…"

V'ar was not wearing her Jedi robes, but she suddenly felt as if they had invisibly folded around her, the remembered weight of her heavy traveling cloak resting steadily on her shoulders. She became acutely conscious of the lightsaber that hung by her side. The short distance between her and the two women huddled on the cabin floor seemed to widen.

_This is what it means to be Jedi,_ she realized. _It is our burden to see further than others. To rise above emotion so that we can discern the path that is best for everyone. To accept heartbreaking losses in the service of the greater good._

With one of those abrupt flashes of insight that bursts into the heart full-grown and complete, Jedi Knight V'ar Taanil finally understood the sorrowful shadows that lurked behind Obi-Wan's eyes, behind the eyes of every one of her Jedi teachers. She was Jedi, and could never be a true part of the loyal circle that surrounded Padmé and… yes… Anakin. She could only serve them.

And serve she must. She had a mission and a goal. _Protect Padmé. Preserve the light._

"As far as I can tell, every ship available is needed at the front. " The profound gentleness in V'ar's voice was as new as the distance between her and her charges. "There is no possibility that Nowhere could spare enough forces to fend off an entire Republic battle group."

The hot, angry tears that sprang into Dormé's eyes would have to do for them both. V'ar could not afford to shed any.

The scanner screen glowed hot and fierce. The Force churned sickeningly around them. The Pilot grieved silently while the Handmaiden wept openly, hunched over her mistress' prone form.

_Preserve the light. _

There could be no other choice for a Jedi.

x

Released from the burden of matter and physics, leaping through the spaces between and beyond, Anakin felt more real, more whole, than he ever had imagined possible. Without the crude boundaries of matter there was no such thing as separation from others. Without the constraint of physical senses there was no limit to seeing or knowing. Thought, feeling and will merged into one, making time and space irrelevant. There was only _being,_ only the one eternal moment. He was one with every particle of existence. He was conscious. He was aware. And he was not alone.

_Padmé… _

Here.

And she was.

Padmé was more deeply with him than she had ever been – more deeply than when their bodies were entwined, seeking a fusion that mere physical joining could never achieve. She was closer, even, than on those precious occasions when he had succeeded in merging his mind with hers. Here, beyond the realm of the senses, she had entered into his being – distinctive in her presence, yet as utterly a part of him as his soul.

Most wondrous of all, she brought with her something more …something new. Something he had tried to grasp before, but that had eluded him.

Anakin had the clear sense of another presence – as distinct and individual as Padmé's, but definitely not hers. But that wasn't all. To Anakin's utter amazement, and Padmé's… a second… separate, unique personality had made its presence felt.

Two.

There were two.

_Twins…ours… _

Oh, Anakin!

And there it was.

He had found it.

At last he had found what he was looking for. In a place that wasn't a place, in a battle that he hadn't wanted to take on, in the hidden dimensions between the commonly understood boundaries of the universe, he had found his heart's desire.

Anakin had found _home._

Home wasn't a place to go. It was a place to be. It was the reason for being; to be a part of something greater than oneself. It was kinship. Connectedness. Communion.

It was life in all its fullness.

_Yes,_ Padmé echoed inside of his awareness. _This is who we are. This is what we fight for. This is what connects us to everyone else. All beings long for the freedom to choose life._

Unbound as he was by time and space, with the battle of his life raging around him, the realization might have taken Anakin only a nanosecond. But somehow, it changed … everything.

With new eyes he gazed at the picture around him. It was as though he soared through a deep canyon between massive walls; one light, one dark. The dark sought to overwhelm; the light, unwilling to be the oppressor, merely held back the dark.

Stalemate.

It couldn't go on like this.

_All beings long for the freedom to choose life._

It was time.

Time to end the war. Everyone needed to go home.

For that to happen, two things needed to take place. The light would have to be bolder, and the dark must be forced to recede.

Instinctively, Anakin began to do what he did best.

He created a little chaos.

His straight path became a kind of zigzag between the two opposing forces. With each pass he drew closer to one or the other of the walls. Finally he plunged straight into the wall of light, surrounding and filling himself with its essence. His head felt as though he wore a crown of stars. Circling straight back out of it, he launched himself unhesitatingly into the wall of darkness, trailing bright sparks behind him as he went.

The darkness resisted him at first; but remembered surges of the flame meditation soon burned their way up his body. Anakin's will would not be denied. The darkness yielded. In the realm of pure power, intention is all. He plunged in only to swoop away again, drawing tendrils of dark energy with him, bringing them straight back into the light.

Again he repeated his dance; and again, and again, and again, fraying the unyielding boundaries between the opposing energies. Beginning the weaving of a new kind of cloth. Creating the pattern for things to come.

Perhaps Anakin understood what he was doing. Perhaps he was merely operating on pure instinct, or even inspiration. Either way, his actions in the Force created a kind of power surge on the side of the light, like a huge wave that begins to curl, while the forward edge of the dark tide receded a little in the undertow.

Years later Master Yoda would refer to the Battle of Nowhere as "the One Point" from which all future events flowed.

But the One Point within that battle was the decision Anakin made to take on one last task. Slowly allowing himself to slip out of his state of heightened awareness and back into the limits of his body, he turned his attention to the _Victorious._

x

"Mace, do you sense that?" All the hairs on Obi-Wan's body were standing on end from the wild surges in the Force.

"How could I not?" Although it was hard to tell from only two words, the gravelly voice over the comm. seemed strangely agitated. "Everyone feels it."

"Look at that!" The Tactical Officer on the _Intrepid's_ bridge yelped. "I've never seen people fight with that much fire in their bellies."

_I have,_ Obi-Wan thought, remembering his Padawan of long ago. Everything felt strange and different.

Stranger still, his troops wasn't just holding on. There were overrunning and beating back the droid ships on every front.

They were _winning._

Anakin's voice over the comm. startled him. "You have it in hand now, Obi-Wan. I'm pulling my squadron out. There is one more thing I have to do."

"Wait!" Obi-Wan barked, and then, stupidly, "What?"

"You probably don't want to know," Anakin said kindly, and signed off.

_Anakin? You're slipping away…_

_I'm here, my love. I'm here. There's just one more thing I need to do._

_I don't want to let go._

_You aren't. I only need to shift my attention. Just for a while._

Something touched the link between them, probing it. Something different. Invasive. Another consciousness. Padmé recoiled, suddenly uneasy.

_Anakin? What was that?_

_It's all right._ He could not hide his own sudden spike of unease and… fear. _You had better pull away from me now, Padmé. Please._

Silence.

… _Padmé? _

_I don't want to!_

_Padmé, go!_ Then, more gently, _Don't worry. Go back to the others now. I won't be long._

_Anakin, what was that?… _

_Anakin…?_

x

It happened so fast that even V'ar didn't see it coming. That was the problem with limited scanner range. It made one blind to threats at a distance.

Especially when the Force itself felt somehow alien, making a Jedi blinder still.

The _Patriot _jolted violently as though she had run into something, rocked, and shuddered to a halt. Still on full throttle, the engines howled until the Pilot threw himself forward onto the console to shut them off. The ship's metal hull screeched from the shocking interruption of its high-speed momentum. V'ar flew straight up to smash brutally against the low cabin ceiling, but still managed to land on her feet when she dropped. Dormé and the still unconscious Padmé fared a little better, and merely rolled and slid along the floor until they crashed into the back wall.

It was over in seconds. The small bridge was suddenly silent except for the sound of ragged breathing, although the ship continued to shudder and vibrate in an erratic pattern. The scanner screen didn't show anything unusual and the proximity alarms were silent, but the engineering boards were lit up from one side to another, their indicator lights flashing wildly.

V'ar recovered first. "Is everyone all right?"

The Pilot nodded. Dormé sobbed, "Padmé didn't wake up. I can't tell whether she is hurt."

"And you?" V'ar persisted.

Dormé waved her off impatiently.

"Do your best for the moment. " V'ar turned her full attention to the Pilot and to the displays on the console. "What happened?"

"Tractor beam…long range …" He peered at the scanner. "Incredibly long range, in fact… I can barely make out… "

There was along pause.

A very long one.

"The _Victorious_?" he whispered in disbelief.

Somehow, V'ar wasn't surprised.

Someone moaned softly.

"My Lady?" Dormé urged, shaking Padmé and patting her face. "My Lady?"

The ship shuddered violently again. Some sense of motion lurked just below the perceptions.

"That is fast," V'ar murmured. Much faster than any normal…" She broke off and flicked a glance toward the rear of the bridge. Padmé was sitting up in the arms of her distraught Handmaiden, conscious at last and looking around with a puzzled expression.

"Try evasive maneuvers," V'ar murmured to the pilot. For a few breathless moments the ship vibrated and screeched.

"No use," he gritted through his teeth. We're caught, all right…"

"We seem to be on the floor," Padmé observed. "That can't be good."

"We have encountered a problem," V'ar agreed.

Dormé looked from V'ar to Padmé in pure exasperation. "My Lady, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine…" Though she patted Dormé's hand soothingly, it was V'ar's eyes that Padmé sought and held with a look like a searchlight. "What is it?"

V'ar was straight with her. "It seems you were right after all, Padmé. We are being attacked by Republic forces. "

"The Flotilla?" Padmé struggled to regain her feet while the Handmaiden tried to prevent her. For a moment they flailed together, and then Padmé gave up and sank back onto the floor. Dormé cradled her as she would a child. "Are they safely away?

"Beset by a Republic task force," V'ar summarized tersely. "In Corellian space."

Padmé's reaction was different than Dormé's had been. More subdued. More strained. More inward. "It's because of us," she whispered. "We brought this on them." She closed her eyes, and her lips formed a soundless word that might have been '_Anakin…' _A tight frown formed on her forehead and her eyes flickered open again. "Where are we?"

"We were on our way to Nowhere's command ship. Now it appears that we are caught in the Victorious' tractor beam." Dormé grabbed Padmé by the shoulders beseechingly. "My Lady, if you are in communication with Anakin…"

Padmé's troubled frown deepened. "It seems I am not, at the moment."

V'ar whirled around to stare at her.

"He withdrew from me. He said it would not be for long… there was something he needed to do…" Padmé paused, looking puzzled. "He didn't want to share it with me, but I got the distinct impression it had something to do with the _Victorious_…"

V'ar's normally serene expression changed to something harder. She glanced over her shoulder at the Pilot. "Any of ours nearby?"

"No one," he said shortly. The ship began to shudder around them. "Picking up speed."

V'ar looked back at Padmé. "So we are entirely on our own, then?"

Padmé nodded. "For now."

"Send a distress call to the Intrepid," V'ar ordered the Pilot. "And move over. I need access to the Nav. computer."

"That sounds useful," Dormé grumbled bitterly, helping her mistress up from the floor at last. "Considering we're not exactly free to go anywhere."

"When you have a better idea, I'll entertain it," V'ar growled. "In the meantime…"

The comm. suddenly crackled into life, startling everyone.

"Hello, the Patriot! Captain Pell here. We're yer escort … what in the seven hells is goin' on?"

x

The 'thing' that had disturbed Padmé – the reason Anakin had pushed her away – latched onto his mind the way an old familiar refrain does, or a bitter memory that will not let go.

_Be gone, be gone, BE GONE! _Anakin raged in his heart as wisps of silent, mocking, laughter seeped into the crevices of his mind that Padmé had left behind. Any buoyancy that lingered in his soul quickly dissipated.

_There you are,_ Anakin, the mockery seemed to say. _And your lady wife, too… alive and well._  
He had been found.

That was not unexpected; he'd always known it was just a matter of time.

The rage was because… _she_ had been found.

Because of him. Because he needed her, and had allowed the connection between them to remain while opening himself entirely to the Force without caution or shielding, bringing Padmé with him.

Rash. Impetuous. Wasn't that what they had always called him?

_I shouldn't have allowed her to linger … I shouldn't have … I knew better than that… _

"Where're we going, Boss?"

The pilot's anxious question roused Anakin and brought him firmly back down into the here and now. He realized that his shoulders were tense and his feet were freezing. His head ached from trying to free his thoughts from the dark thing that circled them. Guilt gave him a sick feeling in his gut.

He glanced at his instruments. The scanners showed that he'd already brought his loyal squadron around in a wide arc heading away from the Intrepid and from the center of the battlefront. His pilots had not been privy to his last conversation with Obi-Wan. He had given them no explanation, but had followed him unhesitatingly.

_Yes, Anakin, where are you going? _The dark voice mocked. _Are you coming back to me at last? I have been waiting for you._

Anakin forgot about his cold feet. The aches and pains went away, as did all queasiness. The whole of Anakin's universe reduced to a pinpoint of pure intention. Everything he was, everything he knew, and everything he felt compressed into a single point – a locus of pure energy, pulsing with fury. A singularity in every way that mattered.

_Yes, _Anakin agreed in a thought as compact and focused as a laser. _I am coming for you. _

"We need to take out a Republic star destroyer," Anakin announced over the open comm. link to every pilot in his squadron. "That's the last thing. Then we're done."

"A star destroyer?" The pilot on Anakin's immediate left yipped. "Boss, you gone completely crazy on us?"

_Have I? _Anakin wondered, overtones of derisive laughter still echoing inside of his head. "One ship," he coaxed. "We've just knocked out hundreds! She's big, but I know that ship. I captained that ship… I know every part of her… all her strengths, all her vulnerabilities… all her secrets…"

"But boss…" uneasiness rippled throughout the squadron. Anakin could feel it under his skin. "A Republic ship?"

"Why?" Anakin growled. "Have you suddenly become loyalists to the Republic? I thought we had agreed that we were on our own."

Uneasy murmurs echoed around the link.

"But Boss," someone brave finally spoke up. "We might need to live in the Republic after this. Killin' Separatists is one thing, but somethin' like this'd put prices on our heads, after all is said and done…"

Of course, the man was right. They were all right.

Even in his bloodlust, Anakin understood. They were free men, protecting their own. That was as it should be.

_Free._

The last words the pilots of Esh-Col ever heard from their mysterious hero were ones the survivors puzzled about for years afterward.

"May the Force be with you all," Anakin said, and before they could reply or get their bearings or even think of following him, he was gone.

x

_Alone. He comes alone! _Sidious realized.

_This could not be more perfect._

x

On the _Victorious_, Lord Tyrannus struggled to feign indifference to his Master's sudden pure, high bubble of laughter. He still was searching for a plausible excuse to make a hasty departure when his Master's laughter subsided, and Darth Sidious activated the internal comm.

"Captain Tarkin. Make ready."

"Make ready for what?" Tyrannus-the-apprentice snapped, dangerously close to the edge of his patience.

"You offered to take care of Skywalker." Sidious shrugged. "The opportunity is about to present itself."

"He is on the way to us?" Dooku hated not knowing everything his Master knew. Worse still, Tarkin seemed to be in on whatever plan was afoot.

Sidious only smiled. "Turn your tattered fleet around, Lord Tyrannus. This battle of ships and droids has reached its end. Another, greater battle awaits us."

Hate pulsed in Dooku's heart, but he did as he was bidden.

x

"Hang on, _Patriot_, we're gonna try somethin'…"

"Pell, where are you? V'ar quickly tried all the viewers in succession until she spotted a small group of vessels coming up behind the _Patriot_, where the tractor beam exerted its pull. "Wait! she yelled over the comm. "Don't try to fire at the tractor …"

A second later a sudden bright flash appeared on the viewscreen, the Patriot rocked violently, and sparks exploded from the console, singing V'ar's clothes. The Pilot yelped and sucked his fingers.

"…beam!" V'ar finished, too late. "The particle beam carries the energy towards us…"

"Sorry, _Patriot_. Bad idea. Everybody all right?"

V'ar glanced around the cabin. "For the moment."

"What else can we do?" the man called Pell asked after a long moment. He sounded almost plaintive.

V'ar glanced back at her Nav. computer. Something sparked – not in the console this time, but in her imagination.

"We have a little time. The source of the beam is still quite far away. If you can stay nearby, I'd like to try something of my own…

"Aye, _Patriot_. Meanwhile we'll see if there's somebody who can work on takin' out the source."

_Good luck with that,_ V'ar thought wryly, but in the interest of keeping a positive attitude she held her tongue and turned her attention to a complex series of calculations.

x

Aside from the ever-lurking _Victorious_, the ships with the best long-range scanning capability amid the furious fray at Nowhere were the heavy cruisers _Intrepid_ and _Leviathan_. Both were commanded by Jedi. Each commander independently had observed the Republic's pursuit of the refugee fleet into the depths of the Corellia system. Neither one had missed the significance of the action. The Republic that the Jedi had served faithfully for a thousand years was turning against itself. Tearing its own flesh. Opening it to rot.

It was Master Windu who made the decision that ultimately would end a milennium of Jedi history and begin a new era.

"Obi-Wan," he ordered the Supreme commander of Nowhere's forces, "take over command of the right flank. There is nothing left that your people can't handle, and I think the Leviathan and her task force are needed elsewhere." Despite the Jedi belief in collaboration and consensus, Mace issued his demand as an order. That way – should it ever come to that – he and the Council would take the blame, hopefully sparing Obi-Wan and the others.

He hoped it would never come to that.

The subtlety was not lost on Obi-Wan. He accepted Windu's decision without dissent. "Have we arrived at the point, then," he only murmured quietly, "that the Jedi openly defy the Republic?"

"It seems so." Windu paused. "Let us hope we have not delayed too long." Already the task force led by the Leviathan was regrouping and moving off toward the heart of the Corellia system and the besieged refugee fleet. "Keep yourself well, Obi-Wan. Remember your path. May the Force…"

Abruptly the communication was interrupted by an emergency signal from central field command on the same frequency. "The enemy has stopped engaging with us on all fronts, General. It looks as though they're turning back!"

Every set of eyes on the _Intrepid's _bridge turned to stare at the large scanner. There was a long, dubious silence before the exhausted command crew finally ventured a few ragged cheers.

x

Alone in the dark, Anakin braced himself for the task ahead. Fuel was running low. Munitions were low. He had little time left, and no margin for error.

One man. One tiny ship, against something so enormous that it already appeared on his viewscreen like a star.

Only it wasn't a star. His instruments and his feelings assured him of that.

He wasn't afraid. Any fear had long gone. Instead, he concentrated.

Obi-Wan would have been proud, in times long gone.

Images of the _Victorious'_ complex structure flashed through Anakin's mind, particularly her power systems. He searched them systematically for the right combination of accessibility and vulnerability. The star destroyer's sheer size did not daunt him. He knew that every system, however sophisticated, had its weak points. He had a fairly clear idea where the _Victorious'_ were. His concern was not size, but time. The _Victorious_ in particular, the pride of the Republic's fleet, had been designed with enough redundant systems to make her almost impossible to disable with a single strike.

But he didn't want to disable anything. He wanted to destroy the ship, and everything and everyone on her.

_He _was on the _Victorious._ Calling out to Anakin. Drawing him in.

No more.

One final, irrevocable inferno would obliterate Anakin's nemesis once and for all. Then, at last, it would be over.

Then he could rest.

The star destroyer loomed closer. Anakin was traveling fast. It was a risk; with fuel so low, speed now was a direct tradeoff against having more time later to do what he needed to.

He chose speed.

The comm. crackled. It had been doing so intermittently for some time. He ignored it, and concentrated.

x

_Victory._

Obi-Wan studied the story told by the _Intrepid's _largest scanner screen through tired, burning eyes. The forces on both sides of the conflict were shattered and much reduced. The Separatists had suffered enormous losses, and they were indeed turning back the way they had come.

For now.

But was it truly a victory?

To a Jedi, victory attained by violence was illusory. Fleeting. It did not resolve the underlying problem.

While the collective will of the defenders of Nowhere seemed to have achieved the unimaginable – they had stopped Separatist invasion of the Corellia system and the Galaxy's Core, at least for now – there was no guarantee that the enemy wouldn't regroup and return, stronger than ever.

War was victory by violence. What, after all, did war solve? It was what came after that was important. Rebuilding. Renewal. Resolution of the underlying problems.

Obi-Wan wondered wearily what kind of a role might remain for the Jedi in that aftermath, after they had defied the Republic so openly. Even if by some miracle Palpatine didn't go after the Order in vengeance for this day, what place was there for the Jedi in a society that turned against those in need?

L'am Tz'o, among the greatest of the ancient Jedi warriors, had taught that the killing of great numbers of people was a matter for weeping; that victories in war should be observed by mourning. "Arms are instruments of ill omen," the ancient one had admonished. "When one is compelled to use them, it is best to do so without relish. There is no glory in victory, and to glorify it despite this is to exult in the killing of men. . . ."

Obi-Wan broke off his moody reflections when he saw the Comms. officer waving both arms to get his attention. "It's Captain Pell for you, Sir! It's urgent."

"Go ahead." Obi-Wan listened with closed eyes, in an effort to reduce their burning.

"We got trouble out here, General. Anybody there know how ter break outta a star destroyer's tractor beam?"

"The beam has to be stopped at the source," Obi-Wan replied automatically. "What's the problem?"

Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed while Pell outlined the situation with the Patriot. They remained closed while he asked all the salient questions. "Who? Where? How long?"

The answers made him never want to open his eyes again. Padmé's ship. Captured. By the _Victorious._

Padmé's ship. And V'ar's.

The Comms. officer called out for his attention again. Another emergency, it seemed. The battle was supposed to be over. Would the crises never stop?

"What is it now?" he snapped. Oh-oh. He was getting too edgy. Not good. Obi-Wan grappled with himself for calm and clarity. _A little longer, just a little longer…_

"Seems we have a fighter squadron at loose ends, General. Their leader … that Skywalker … buggered off on his own and they can't raise him. They're asking what they should do."

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open. He stared at his Comms. officer. "Well, did Skywalker say where he was going?"

The Comms. officer swallowed. "The… the _Victorious, _Sir."

Obi-Wan stared at the man, his thoughts racing.

The _Victorious._

The source of the tractor beam.

Of course.

Anakin must know about the _Patriot's _capture, and was on his way to deal with it in his own, inimitable way.

Why not… Obi-Wan closed his eyes again… why not just let him go? The world had already been turned upside down on this day. The Jedi had defied Corellian neutrality to fight side by side with rebels and refugees, while a powerful Republic army task force had watched the debacle from the sidelines. The _Leviathan _was on her way fight the Republic directly over a flotilla of refugees. Anakin… presumably it was Anakin… had single-handedly turned the tide of the Force, and in doing so, had brought Obi-Wan his victory in the Battle of Nowhere.

_It was a victory, wasn't it?_

If Anakin was that powerful, might not he be the Chosen One after all? Perhaps he knew what he was doing.

Perhaps one should just let him be…

_Palpatine is on that ship!_ The memory of Bel Iblis' mad rush to bring him the news just before the battle (so long ago, it seemed!) came flooding back.

Palpatine was on that ship.

Either Anakin was planning to take out an entire star destroyer with a single one-man fighter, or he was going to meet someone … _on that ship._ Of the two possibilities, which was the more likely?

Even Anakin couldn't be harebrained enough to think he could destroy the Victorious alone.

_Could he?_

_Master Jinn, if you're still around, I could use your advice now…_

Of course Obi-Wan made his decision without waiting for ghostly advice. "Pell!" he snapped. "Stay with the Patriot. Don't leave her. Keep this link free. Report everything that happens."

"Aye, General." Pell signed off.

Obi-Wan whirled around to face the waiting Comms. officer. "Give the lost squadron the Leviathan's coordinates. There's a fight they might want to join."

"Yessir!"

Obi-Wan turned to his Executive Officer, who had been hovering nearby. "Relay a message to Central Field Command, directing them to take over."

"Yes… sir." The reply wasn't as automatic this time – it was closer to a question. The XO looked at Obi-Wan expectantly.

"Gather a task force," Obi-Wan said tiredly, trying not to rub his eyes. "We're moving out."

**Author's Note:**

Once again, I have borrowed Jedi philosophy from heads much wiser than mine:

"_Victory attained by violence is tantamount to a defeat, for it is momentary." _  
----Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948), 'Satyagraha Leaflet No. 13,' May 3, 1919

The ancient Jedi philosopher L'am Tz'o of our story is of course none other than our own Lao-Tzu:

"_Arms are instruments of ill omen. . . . When one is compelled to use them, it is best to do so without relish. There is no glory in victory, and to glorify it despite this is to exult in the killing of men. . . . When great numbers of people are killed, one should weep over them with sorrow. When victorious in war, one should observe mourning rites."_

---- Lao-Tzu (604 BC - 531 BC)


	39. Chapter 38 The One POint I

**Chapter 38. The One Point I**

**Author's Note: See? Still here!! Still working on this story! And now, for your reading pleasure, Chapter 38. Not much longer to go. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!**

There is a frozen moment in time when one finally turns to face the enemy, when the world is reduced to its simplest elements – _you...me...here...now..._

… I _must…_

That moment can last an eternity.

For Anakin, it arrived when the last of the Esh-Col pilots reluctantly turned away from him and he found himself alone in the universe with the gigantic starship called the _Victorious_ looming before him. Everything else fell away from his awareness, leaving only the ship, the dark presence aboard her – his _enemy_ – and the task.

Almost everything, that is. An otherworldly feeling of having returned from somewhere far away still lingered in mind and senses, leaving him with the impression that he was seeing everything through a crystalline lens. Sharply. Clearly. Close by, in the back of Anakin's consciousness, the reason for his task – the reason for _everything_ – waited; a warm and vibrant spark even in the frozen, airless void of space.

She waited. _They_ waited. He had to move fast.

Anakin checked his fuel levels, and reckoned he had enough left for a full survey circuit around the Star Destroyer. He knew she wouldn't fire on him. Or if she did, she would have as much chance of hitting him as a Bantha had of ridding itself of a sandfly. The destroyer's massive size was not an obstacle. It was an advantage.

Ignoring the remainder of her task force as though the rest of the ships didn't exist, Anakin threw his ship straight at the _Victorious_. He came so close that he could study her with his eyes rather than his instruments. Skimming along her vast underbelly, he studied her blast canon armaments, reminding himself of her systems and distances between firing lines, using outer indicators to remember what lay inside. She still bore battle damage from campaigns he had fought as her Captain … so long ago, in a lifetime he could barely remember.

There was no point in remembering. There was only _here,_ and _now._

Environmental control, astronavigation center, fusion power couplings, tractor beam array, ticked off beneath him in flashes.

_Here. Now._

_x_

Once the decision to follow Anakin had been made, it didn't take the _Intrepid_ and her small escort long to reach the outskirts of the Corellia system where the _Victorious_ hovered in the center of her bristling task force. Obi-Wan assessed the task force objectively, pushing aside for the moment the colossal significance of the very idea that he was surveying a Republic fighting group as a possible enemy. Instead he focused on a single, heavily enhanced signal on the nearly empty tactical screen.

Having finally captured and locked onto Anakin's vessel's signal, Obi-Wan held onto it with every sophisticated technology at his disposal. He'd made sure to keep open a comm. link as well, but it remained stubbornly silent despite his many and varied attempts to hail Anakin. He had to settle for monitoring any transmissions to and from Anakin's vessel.

There were none.

Finally, as the signal representing Anakin's ship drew closer to the _Victorious_, Obi-Wan stopped trying to raise him. He was back on old familiar territory – chasing after Anakin; being left to guess at Anakin's intentions and motivations.

Equally worrying was a smaller cluster of signals that were slowly and inexorably moving toward the _Victorious_ from along a different trajectory. Pell and his group hovered stoically but futilely nearby as Padmé's ship was drawn closer and closer to the Republic's flagship. Obi-Wan had flung his group toward the _Victorious_ with the intention of negotiating for Padmé's release. But with Anakin stubbornly in the middle of the scenario without authorization and without communicating his intentions, Obi-Wan had no way of knowing whether his own attempts on Padmé's behalf would help or hinder her situation.

_No way of knowing._ The hairs rose on the back of his neck. It was uncanny just how silent – how _dampened_ – the Force was in this place. The sense of connectedness he had experienced in the battle arena was gone. He hadn't sensed Master Jinn's presence for some time. He reasoned that the connections were there – that they could not be broken. But he couldn't sense them any more than he could see with his eyes on a night without moons or stars.

He might as well be utterly blind.

He studied the small formation around Padmé's ship. "Distance to the _Victorious_?"

"Five hundred and twenty thousand kilometers, General. At current speed we'll be there in just under ten minutes. "

"Time remaining before the _Patriot_ is pulled aboard her?"

"Ten minutes and thirty-four seconds."

_Of course it would be close,_ Obi-Wan frowned. _Why wouldn't it be?_

He reached for the comm. and then withdrew his hand with a kind of hesitation he hadn't experienced once during the entire dreadful battle. He returned his attention to the signal from Anakin's ship.

"What is he doing?" he wondered out loud, and only realized that he had voiced his thoughts when the tactical officer responded obediently to his musings.

"Looks like a survey sweep, General."

"So it does." Obi-Wan watched for a few moments before reaching for the comm. after all, albeit with a different intention this time.

"Captain Pell, status report."

"No change, General." There was an audible pause. "Yer wanna talk ter them yerself?"

"Not yet, Captain Pell. Continue to report regularly, please."

"Yer call, General." Pell sounded disgusted.

Obi-Wan shook his head, faintly amused. It was a fair assumption that the _Victorious_ was still monitoring and attempting to hack the _Intrepid_'s re-encrypted communications, just as Obi-Wan was keeping watch on the star destroyer's.

He wasn't having much luck. He hoped they weren't, either.

The Comms. team had done some fancy patching to feign the impression that Pell was repeatedly attempting to communicate with the _Intrepid_, but that she was not responding. Until Obi-Wan made his move, he wanted those aboard the flagship to know as little about his intentions as he did about theirs.

But perhaps they knew much, much more than he did. Perhaps the star destroyer's secretive passenger was a person to whom the darkening of the Force was a feast rather than a famine. Perhaps that obscuration was a victory of a kind, despite the outcome of the battle.

Obi-Wan fought down his instinctive abhorrence, and forced himself to focus on the immediate problem.

_Anakin, what are your intentions? Are you a friend or a foe? Are you in danger, or endangering us… and her?_

The Force felt empty. Void. Nothing whispered to him. Nothing helped him find the answer. Nothing but intellect and experience.

On that basis, Obi-Wan grasped the comm. once again, this time decisively. "Hail the _Victorious_."

x

V'ar looked up from her absorbing task to see three pairs of eyes watching her expectantly. Without the accustomed whining throb of the engines, the silence in the small ship was enormous. She could discern every minute click and whoosh of the air recycling system, every intake and release of the Pilot's measured breathing, and she could even detect Dormé's somewhat elevated heartbeat. Padmé was faring better, but she looked ashen.

They were all depending upon her to know what to do.

"No one has ever found a way to break the hold of a tractor beam of this strength," she said, breaking into the anxious silence. "Our escort is helpless as well. The _Intrepid_ is on its way to the scene but we don't know Obi-Wan's intentions." She paused and glanced around at each of them. "I can assure you that he knows of our plight. But we must prepare ourselves for the possibility of being detained on the _Victorious_ until events unfold further."

"How do you suggest we prepare for something that?" Dormé asked dryly.

"Be cautious. Be aware. Be ready to move fast if the need or opportunity arises." V'ar glanced at Padmé again. "Are you well, Padmé? Is there anything we can do for you in the interim?"

Padmé looked as though she were stifling a groan, but she shook her head. "Nothing. Thank you. I'm fine."

V'ar knew it wasn't true, but refrained from saying so.

"If you don't mind my asking…" the Pilot waved a hand toward the Nav. computer where V'ar had been working so assiduously. "What's all that about?"

V'ar chose her words carefully. It wouldn't do to raise any unwarranted hope. "There is one more thing I'd like to try …"

Padmé sat forward in her seat, idly rubbing her lower back with both hands. She looked instantly brighter. "Anything is better than sitting here and waiting for … whatever!"

"I'm not making any promises, Padmé. But it occurred to me that if we managed to loosen the tractor beam's hold on us for a moment – just a moment – we could use that moment to jump away into Hyperspace…"

Now the Pilot leaned forward. "It would have to be split second timing! And the calculations… they would be unbelievably complex…"

V'ar ducked her head. "The calculations are done. I've built in an algorithm that adjusts them with changes in our position and speed so I won't need to recalculate at the last moment. There wouldn't be time."

The Pilot whistled, scratching his stubble while he thought. "But how do you propose we get loose…?"

V'ar smiled slightly. "Last time we tried to resist the pull of the beam, and failed to break free. I suggest that this time we work _with_ the beam's force. Move /iinto/i it..."

"… only faster!" The Pilot's booted feet hit the floor with a bang as he flung himself around to face the console again. "Worth a try."

"Perhaps," V'ar said cautiously. "Strap yourselves in, please. This might be rough."

She didn't have to ask the Pilot to re-start the engines. They already were roaring into life. V'ar felt a rush of pure gratitude for his cool head and competence. She realized to her dismay that she knew nothing about him, or where he came from. She hadn't even asked his name.

"Shouldn't we warn Captain Pell?" Dormé piped up.

"Best not." V'ar said firmly. She spun around and raised an eyebrow at Padmé. "Anakin...?"

Padmé bit her lip. "No."

Scowling, Dormé busied herself with securing Padmé's safety harness, and then her own.

"Please understand," V'ar insisted, "that this is only an attempt. There is no guarantee that we will succeed."

"Where do you suggest we go," Padmé asked over Dormé's head, "if by some miracle we do break free?"

"Alderaan." V'ar's hands flew over the console, making fine adjustments. "I've pinpointed a position in close orbit to the planet. I'm certain Senator Organa will come to our aid very quickly once he learns of our presence there."

The answer seemed to ease Padmé's mind, and she settled comfortably back in her seat with a suddenly very silent Dormé holding her hand.

V'ar returned to the console in time to catch the Pilot's fleeting smile and the small wave of pleasure that went with it. He must have felt her curious look, because he murmured, a bit sheepishly, "I'm from Alderaan."

V'ar smiled. "I'm sorry. I never asked your name. I was remiss, considering all that we have been through together."

He nodded politely. "Carlist Rieeken."

"Are you with the Corellian Security Service?"

He hesitated. "You might say that."

"Do you have a rank?"

"Only when I'm on official business," Rieeken deadpanned.

V'ar laughed. "Thank you for everything you have done for us, Carlist. Now let's see whether we can get you home so you don't have to explain your presence here to anyone on the _Victorious_."

x

"… Kenobi … is it?" The voice over the comm. sounded cold – even disdainful. Obi-Wan quickly reviewed the data readouts on Republic fleet assignments. Tarkin… that was his name. A Captain.

Obi-Wan hated to pull rank. But under the circumstances…

"It's _General_ Kenobi, Captain."

"Indeed."

There was no change in Tarkin's inflection. Interesting. The man seemed indifferent to Obi-Wan's superior status. That could only mean…

"Go to defense condition Alpha," he murmured to the XO. "Quietly. Captain Tarkin seems to believe that we are not on the same side."

"Aye, General." The XO looked suddenly nervous.

"You have a ship in tow, Captain Tarkin. I'd like to know its status."

There was a discernable pause before Tarkin replied crisply, "that is classified information, General. I'm afraid I cannot comply …"

" … with a direct order?" Obi-Wan snapped.

There was another pause, during which Obi-Wan imagined the _Victorious_' Captain straightening up to his full height, whatever that might be. He didn't need the Force to tell him that Tarkin's opposition would continue. The pauses spoke loudly enough.

There was something shadowy going on, all right.

"I am sorry, General, I am unable to…"

"I wish to speak directly with the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic," Obi-Wan ordered.

There was another significant pause, followed by the first tiny indication of respect.

"Sir? I don't…"

"Don't play the fool, Tarkin. I know he is a passenger aboard your ship. Put me through to him."

The next pause was longer than ever.

"General Kenobi, please stand by..."

Obi-Wan acknowledged and ended the transmission. "Battlestations," he said quietly. "Close in to this mark, in this formation…"

"Aye, General," the XO acknowledged crisply despite his evident exhaustion.

"… but hold."

"Aye, sir." This time there was an audible sigh.

Obi-Wan stilled himself and studied the screen. _Anakin, what are you going to do_ All kinds of scenarios flashed through his mind, so rationally and methodically that he didn't notice how many of them had to do with ways of backing up any attempt by Anakin to thwart whatever those aboard the _Victorious_ were planning.

He didn't realize that all of his actions, all of his _thinking_ arose from the irrational, dark and perverse hope that Anakin – the wild card, the unknown factor – would once again break the impasse by turning the world upside down and inside out.

_Destroy him, Anakin_, he urged impulsively, hardly aware that he was doing it. _Destroy the Sith. End this._

_x_

_There it is. The best possibility._

The only one, realistically.

Now he needed to… Anakin turned toward a tiny marking on the star destroyer's seemingly endless hull. As he flew closer it resolved itself into an enormous hatch – smaller than those leading to the main hangar bays, but gigantic nonetheless from close by. He studied it carefully.

No, he had remembered correctly. There was no way in from the outside. Damn these Corellian designs.

Anakin paused – really paused, inwardly and outwardly – for the first time since his headlong flight toward the _Victorious_.

_This is it, isn't it?_ he thought. _This is what you wanted – for me to come before you._

There was no answer to his unvoiced question, other than a feeling of inevitability. Of destiny. Of… purpose.

_I must face him._

So be it. Face him, he would.

Everything seemed so clear.

For the first time in his headlong flight toward the _Victorious_, Anakin activated his comm. and opened hail.

"Anakin Skywalker here. Request permission to come aboard. Aft landing bay No. 3B."

The huge hatch began to open below him. The response time was instantaneous.

Yes, they had known he was coming. And when. And where.

Anakin enabled the automatic docking sequence while he rummaged around in the tight little fighter for his tools.

x

"_Anakin Skywalker here. Request permission to come aboard. Aft landing bay No. 3B."_

When the captured transmission rang out around the _Intrepid_'s bridge, Obi-Wan's heart stopped, only to resume beating an endless moment later with a lurch that tore a gasp from his lips.

Noooooooo!!!!!

A meeting. He had hoped… he had expected… anything but this… _He walks alone into the enemy's well-protected lair … why?_ He felt crushed. He could hardly breathe.

By some miracle of inner discipline, Obi-Wan caught himself. Hard.

When he had regained control over his seditious emotions, Obi-Wan was deeply shocked to discover just how uncontrolled they had become; how fervently he had hoped that Anakin would do something rash, and irresponsible, and _amazing_ that would somehow, miraculously save the day as he had in the Battle for Nowhere.

_How could I possibly have lost control in that way? What was I thinking?_ He shivered with sudden cold that spread all the way down into his fingers and toes. He knew that chill. It was not the first time he had experienced it, nor the dampening of his perceptions in the darkness of the Force. He _knew_ better, he _knew_ the enemy was clever, and powerful, and insidious…

… and now, it seemed, he knew even more. He understood perhaps for the first time how easily the enemy could strike in the most private, hidden, and protected of places… in one's very soul.

"General?"

All eyes on the bridge were on him. Hidden under the voluminous sleeves of his robe, Obi-Wan clasped his icy hands together tightly and took a deep, purifying breath.

"We watch," he said quietly. "We negotiate. But not for long."

x

The first thing that struck Anakin was how deserted the hangar bay was.

Aside from his own steaming starfighter, only two other ships stood in the gleaming bay. One looked like a modified Republic military shuttle, the kind of ship he'd expected to see on board a star destroyer. The other… Anakin took a long, hard look at it. It was sleek and vaguely familiar-looking; an elegant sailship. A thing of beauty that gave him a very ugly feeling.

Otherwise, the bay was entirely empty. There wasn't even a sign or sound of a droid anywhere in the quiet hangar. The soft hiss of equalizing air as the hangar bay doors sealed shut plunged the bay into deathly silence, save for the soft hum of his starship's engines. Landing bay 3B exclusively served the top secret chambers within the flagship. It was not often used, but somehow, he had expected more activity – more ships to choose from…

Scowling again at the sailship, Anakin rolled his starfighter as close to the aft hangar bay wall as he could and brought her to a stop. He climbed out, dragging a jam-packed tool box with him. Not for the first time, he wished fervently for an astromech droid, but the Refugee Alliance's funds didn't stretch to such luxuries. They had been lucky to get the fighters.

The artificial lights glinted off of the starfighter's stubby yellow wings when he slipped down her side, and almost wistfully, he found himself giving her flank a quick pat.

Then he caught himself. _Enough._

Working as quickly as he could, Anakin opened up the little ship's reactor housing and began some serious reassembly. He didn't know how much time he had and it was pointless to waste any of it in announcing his arrival. Besides, he had no intention of leaving the hangar bay and the ships.

_He wanted me. I'm here. Let him come to me. _

He worked feverishly, trying not to think about what lay ahead. Most of all, he wanted to avoid imagining a face for the presence that had haunted his mind and his dreams for so long. Whenever he _did _think about it – as he so often had, during all those long, sweaty nights without Padmé by his side or while traveling through the eternal frozen stillness of space – all that came to him was a bewildering tangle of feelings and images. It was as though the thoughts deliberately obscured themselves, clouding rationality and leaving him empty and confused. All he knew for certain was that the _Presence_, as he had come to think of it, was here.

He forced himself to focus on his task, and worked on, keeping one part of his mind alert for any movement in the empty and silent hangar. There was none. Until…

"Ah, Skywalker. At last."

… Anakin leaped to his feet so quickly that whacked his head on the starfighter's wing.

"It seems we are destined to meet again and again, until whatever lies between us is finished."

_I didn't sense him! _Unaccustomed to being caught entirely unawares, and utterly unprepared for the sight of his old enemy _in this place_, for several seconds Anakin could only stare at the source of that familiar, condescending, and utterly hated voice.

_"_You!!!!!!!" _How could I not have felt him coming? _For the first time in a very, very long time, Anakin's hand found the hilt of his lightsaber.

Count Dooku inclined his head in a mocking bow. "Indeed."

"What are you doing here?" Anakin hissed, barely believing that the Separatist leader – the man who had condemned Padmé, Obi-Wan and himself to death on Geonosis – was standing before him on a Republic Star Destroyer. "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, dear. And to think that I was led to believe that you are so intelligent and perceptive."

The insult, along with myriad possible explanations for Dooku's presence on the Republic's flagship, ricocheted around in Anakin's mind like stray blaster bolts, forming as unhelpful a pattern.

This was the Sith whose powers were far beyond those taught to the Jedi. The one who had taken Anakin's arm without a second's hesitation.

This was the Sith Lord whose droid armies had divided the Galaxy, decimated Nowhere and destroyed Bram and so many others.

_How can he be here? _Try as he might, Anakin somehow couldn't put the fragments together. His inability to solve the puzzle felt utterly wrong. His head felt clear and light; his perceptions, keen, and yet … Dooku somehow had been able to _entirely_ elude Anakin's notice in the Force.

Dooku did not advance, but only watched Anakin with an inscrutable expression while Anakin struggled to calm the wild trains of thought in his head. _This is the man…_ Anakin's frantic mind filled with floods of unwanted memories… Padmé fighting for her life in the arena … the attack on Obi-Wan with the Life-Force Disruptor … tales of horror told by the refugees on Esh-Col …

So much suffering. So much pain. The man stood before him now with all the confidence and condescension of a Master about to deliver a lecture. It was beyond bizarre.

_"The Sith are once again ascendant in the Galaxy,"_ Master Yoda had warned, so long ago. _"Shrouds the vision of all Jedi, does this darkness. Makes it difficult to perceive even that which is right in front of us." _

Could this be… was it _he ... _was_ Dooku _the dark presence that blighted his soul? Even while he considered the notion for the first time, Anakin's feelings screamed in denial. _No, no, no…_ There had been different images in his mind. Shadows of another face. But it could all have been a deception…

Dooku's eyes burned into his and the protest died in Anakin's heart.

Jedi. Sith. What did it matter? In Anakin's experience, deception and lies were common to both. He could only focus on the truth he knew.

Dooku was his enemy.

It was personal.

Dooku had sought _him _out.

_Here. Now._

Anakin resisted the urge to glance at the open reactor housing. The job wasn't finished. For whatever reason, Dooku was costing him precious time. He needed to act, and to act fast.

Quickly, decisively, Anakin strode toward the center of the hangar and the man who remained there, studying him.

"What do you want, Dooku?"

"Honestly?" Dooku began to circle Anakin, staring all the while into his eyes. There was something cold and bitter behind those deep, dark eyes. Something _spiteful. _ There was … _hate._ Dooku hated him beyond measure. "I want to be rid of you. I want you to die."

Having seen the truth in those eyes, Dooku's words did not come as a surprise. Having felt the depth of the man's hatred, Anakin stopped trying to work out the reason for it; right at that moment, he stopped caring why.

It just _was. _And it was mutual.

Instinctively, Anakin began circling as well, mirroring Dooku's every move. Between them, the two former Jedi marked out a ring in which one of them would breathe his last breath.

_… but it's not going to be me… _

x

"Now!" V'ar said quietly.

Rieeken's skilled hands flew over the console, ramping up the _Patriot's_ powerful engines to near maximum. The piercing whine was deafening. For an endless moment, the pressure and noise were almost unbearable. A sudden thrust that smashed her passengers hard into their seats was followed by a sense of forward motion, making the passengers' hearts leap while trapping the breath in their lungs.

Only V'ar retained the ability to speak. "Keep going," she gasped. The engine's whine quickly rose to a shriek. Rieeken's trembling hand reached for the hyperdrive control. The shriek rose even higher in pitch, causing Padmé and Dormé to press their hands over their ears. Rieeken's knuckles whitened as he clutched the lever. Suddenly, faster than the eye could follow, V'ar's hand flew out to stop his. Before he could react, the engines' rising scream distorted horribly, dropping to a wail and then to a harsh roar. The ship rocked brutally, shaking her securely tethered passengers as helplessly as if they were dolls.

V'ar reached over the shaken Pilot to switch off the engines and then sank back into her seat to compose herself. The only sound that could be heard in the cabin in the sudden absence of engine noise was ragged breathing.

"How…" Rieeken could barely speak. "…how did you know?"

"Change in pitch," V'ar said briefly.

Rieeken shook his head as if he were clearing it. "I didn't hear…"

"A tiny change only." V'ar turned to Padmé, who was paler than ever.

"I'm sorry, Padmé." Then, more sharply, "How are you feeling?"

Padmé waved the question away. "Now what?"

V'ar raised her hands expressively. "We wait?"

"No! We do not wait!" Dormé burst out, breaking her long silence. "We cannot!" All eyes turned to her in amazement. "We have to get away, V'ar. By any means necessary!"

"Dormé, it will be all right," Padmé attempted feebly, but Dormé ignored her, glaring intently only at V'ar.

V'ar looked Padmé over again, then met Dormé's stare thoughtfully. Astutely. Comprehendingly. Without a further word she swung around to the comm. Her fingers flew over the encryption screen while the puzzled Pilot studied each of the women in turn, evidently trying to make sense of their unspoken communication.

"Pell are you there?"

"Aye!"

"Forward this message to the _Intrepid_ exactly as I give it to you. Bypass the decryption protocol – the code won't break, it would only delay it."

"Everybody all right there? Looked pretty hot around the edges there fer a minute."

"Please, Pell. We have very little time remaining."

"Will do. Stand by."

V'ar stood up. "Ready the Captain's yacht," she murmured to her companion.

Rieeken blanched. V'ar put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and then quickly left the cabin.

"Where ...?" Dormé demanded.

Pressing his lips tightly together, Rieeken just shook his head.

_x_

Anakin burned with righteous rage … with the determination not to be thwarted … with a sense of urgency and haste. It was the haste that sent him hurtling toward Dooku; the hurry to dispense with an obstacle in his path, however dangerous. It was determination that brought his Jedi-blue blade against Dooku's Sith-red one with a series of violent slashes that sent the older man reeling backwards a few ungainly steps. But it was rage – pure, indignant rage – that had to sustain him when Dooku regained the balance, poise and power of a lifetime's study of fighting and killing, and turned it all on Anakin.

It should have been the most terrifying duel of Anakin's life.

With the pure clarity of thought that only fighting for one's life can bring, Anakin realized almost immediately that he was outclassed. He truly was not a Jedi any longer—not the kind of Jedi that Obi-Wan had raised him to be, anyway. He was long out of practice with his swordsmanship. Although more than twice his age, Dooku fought with perfect mastery while Anakin was all over the place, heedlessly burning up his natural power and energy. What was worse was that his concentration was off as well. Unlike a true Jedi, who never would allow outside concerns to alter the purity of his focus, Anakin fought with an agenda, a sense of hurry and the growing dread that he would not be equal to the task.

He couldn't stop thinking about the powers with which Dooku had so easily vanquished him on Geonosis. With one thought, with one motion of his hand, Dooku could end the duel once and for all. Leaping and slashing, Anakin pushed hard, rushing his opponent again and again, hoping against hope that he could get in a killing blow on speed and strength alone before the old man had enough.

But Dooku remained the consummate swordsman. He fought evenly and consistently, compensating so elegantly for any weaknesses that even in the harsh, flat light of the hangar – a place without shadows – his defense appeared seamless. Dooku didn't appear to tire, either. He fought on and on …

… _wait. _

That seemed odd. Very odd. If Dooku's only goal was to destroy him, sure he could have done that immediately. Why the fight, then? Why let it go on so long?

Needing a breather and obeying his instincts, Anakin stopped attacking and backed away, lightsaber at the ready; forcing his enemy to alter his tactics.

Dooku responded in time-honored style. He too backed away slightly, keeping his guard high. Anakin began circling backward. Dooku pursued him, keeping the distance between them the same. Anakin's initial fear lessened rapidly.

_He could kill me here and now, and yet he prefers to dance? _

Fear began to turn into something closer to scorn.

_Honor among swordsmen, Dooku? Once a Jedi, always a Jedi…_ _perfect and predictable… _

The absurdity of it boosted Anakin's confidence considerably. If there was one thing you could rely on with Jedi, it was that they had _boundaries – _limits to their behaviorthat they would not willingly cross. Either that was also true of this Sith, or…

"The great Anakin Skywalker," Dooku sneered into the taut, predatory silence, as though he felt it needed filling. "The Supreme Chancellor's right hand. I simply cannot understand where your reputation comes from."

… or else the man was playing with him. Dragging this out. Making a demonstration of some kind… _but for whom?_

"It must be my legendary charm," Anakin jeered, buying time to think this out.

"That legend is obviously an exaggeration, as are your skills," Dooku retorted. "You disappoint me."

Anakin nearly shook his head in disbelief. It was all so theatrical, so like a performance. If_ I want someone dead, I kill them. Why waste time on all this talk? _But it did confirm that Dooku had more in reserve; that he was indeed biding his time. Anakin on the other hand… well, all he had was himself, and at the moment he couldn't imagine that would be enough. And time was ticking away.

Anakin ended the impasse the only way he could – by smashing through the heretofore absurdly formal boundaries of the duel.

Taking perhaps the greatest risk of a life lived all the way at the edge, Anakin faced his Sith pursuer squarely …

… disengaged his lightsaber …

… and quit.

"This has all been very entertaining, Dooku," he said with all the nonchalance he could muster, "but I don't have time to play." Demonstratively he clipped the saber hilt to his belt and half-turned toward his starfighter, taking care to keep his right side, where his saber hung, away from Dooku, and his right had ready to move.

The Sith Lord remained where he was, seemingly almost suspended in space, his expression frozen somewhere between disgust and disbelief; his red blade pulsating in readiness. "Are you insane?" he said at last.

After a steadying breath, Anakin worked up the courage for his next step. He broke a cardinal rule of engagement by dropping his eyes from Dooku's. When nothing happened instantly, he broke another sacred rule by turning his back on the Sith to walk the few strides to his ship. Every hair on his body stood up as he walked. All of his senses were stretched taut.

"I have to finish repairing my ship," he called out conversationally, calling the vibrospanner from the tool box to his left hand as he walked. "Places to go. Things to do." He made it sound casual, but was only able to take another real breath when he'd made it all the way around to the other side of his ship. Maybe with it between him and Dooku he'd have a fighting chance…

He knew without looking that Dooku had not moved. "I can destroy you with a thought!" Dooku roared. "No matter where you hide!"

At that moment, Anakin knew that his gamble had paid off. He might have smiled if he hadn't also understood instantly that Dooku was, indeed, performing for someone else. Who that someone might be… well, there was nothing to smile about there.

"I believe you," he said coolly to the man he no longer feared – so coolly that he even went back to work on the reactor, giving the last connection a few final twists. "But you didn't kill me when you could have. "

"That is easily rectified," Dooku growled, moving at last.

Hastily, Anakin opened the spanner's power pack, made a few quick adjustments, and dropped it into the reactor housing. "I don't know where you got your reputation either, Dooku," he called out, stalling. "No matter. You can rot in the seven hells as far as I care!"

Dooku had arrived on the other side of his ship. Wrath poured off him like acid. Its touch in the Force was agonizing. Grasping his lightsaber with both hands, Anakin crouched down and began to circle toward the tail of his ship. For a long moment the only sound in the hangar was the faint hiss of two deadly weapons held in absolute stillness. Anakin was about to slide under the starfighter's tail when a new sound, almost incomprehensible in its strangeness, changed everything.

Laughter.

Piercing laughter rolled through the hangar, punctuated by howls of glee.

Transfixed by sheer surprise and by uncontrollable curiosity, Anakin recklessly moved away from the starfighter into open territory to take a look at the intruder. The invisible veils that had obscured his thinking and his awareness fell away, and finally he understood … _everything._

Dooku turned to look as well. He lowered his lightsaber. He disengaged it.

"Oh, Anakin," the Supreme Chancellor's voice chortled from beneath the dark cloak of a Sith. "How I have missed you!"


	40. Chapter 39 The One Point II

**Chapter 39. The One Point II**

**Author's Note:**_ A thousand thanks to all of you for reading and for waiting patiently from one chapter to the next. Thank you also for the comments you leave here at the site and for the wonderful emails and private messages you send me. Writing a novel is not always an easy thing, but your support and enjoyment keeps me going and makes it all worthwhile._

_Here, without further ado, is the next chapter ... a climax, of sorts..._

General Kenobi read the heavily encrypted message slowly and carefully – unusually so, his XO, Commander Bren Eldritch, thought. Normally the General absorbed information faster than anyone he'd ever known. But the General was staring at this one as though he could hardly make out the words – or maybe he didn't want to?

Eldritch backed away and went to stand in front of the large scanner screen. There was the _Victorious_ - twice the size of the _Intrepid_, and twice as dangerous. Her Captain was taking his time about replying to the General's order. It was nerve-wracking for everyone on the bridge to see two Republic commanders face off like that.

He glanced back at the General. The Jedi looked frozen in place, like a jammed Holovid image. Eldritch sighed and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension in them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Comms. officer watching the General intently, waiting for orders.

When General Kenobi finally did move, it was to point to the comms. console. The Comms. Officer jumped to activate the link to the _Victorious_.

"Well, Captain Tarkin?" Kenobi announced. "Your time is up."

All normal activity and chatter on the Intrepid's bridge ceased. The officers and crew strained to hear the conversation. The General spoke quietly and yet so forcefully that the XO could imagine his voice pulsing across the airless void between the two ships unaided.

"I'm sorry, General Kenobi, but I am unable to comply," Tarkin replied uncomfortably after a distinct pause. "Our… passenger… is unavailable to speak with you."

Kenobi didn't show the slightest flicker of emotion. "Very well, Captain. Release the captive ship from your tractor beam."

"Sir, that is …"

"An order." The General's tone brooked no argument.

"But…"

"You have already disobeyed one direct order, Tarkin. Are you going to do it twice?"

A little shiver sprang into life among the _Intrepid's _bridge crew, leaping from one tense soldier to the other.

"General, I cannot…" Tarkin sounded strained, as though his collar sat too tightly.

The General turned around to face the bridge crew. "Battlestations!" he ordered distinctly while the link to the _Victorious_ was still open, and then he quickly mimed that it should be shut down with the classic "cutthroat" gesture. The Comms. officer complied instantly.

After that, the General seemed to sag. He reached out to place a hand on console beside him. His arm tensed. It looked as through it might be all that held him upright.

"Target all tractor beam arrays," The General ordered flatly. "Short bursts only. All we want to do is to disrupt that beam."

"Aye, General." Eldritch moved off in the direction of the weapons console, but General Kenobi grabbed his arm and pulled him closer with such strength that he winced. Immediately he regretted having reacted that way. The General's grey eyes were stormy, but he hadn't meant to hurt. It was a bad situation all around. Everyone was feeling it.

"Sir?"

"Bren, prepare the following firing sequence," Kenobi murmured so quietly the XO had to lean close to hear. The General pressed a small piece of flimsiplast into his hand. "It is to be executed on my order only, at a second's notice."

"Aye, Sir…" Eldritch replied automatically, but then looked, really looked, at what he had been given. He blinked. He looked again. "General?" All of his puzzlement was revealed in his voice. "That's the _Patriot_…"

"I know." The General cut him off. "Stay on top of this one yourself. The timing has to be perfect."

"Yes, General."

Kenobi nodded briefly and let go of his arm. The XO glanced up at the scanner screen again, wondering how the _Victorious_' Captain would react when his own General fired on him.

It was a bad situation, all right. Bad all around.

"Quickly now," V'ar urged, gripping Rieeken's shoulder tightly. "Are you sure you understand what to do?"

"Yes." His hands moved quickly over the console and then hovered just above it, as though reluctant to touch it any longer. "Captain's Yacht is ready for launch. I've sent the transmission with our destination coordinates to Pell." That done, he turned to stare at V'ar, his hazel eyes dark with emotion. "Do you understand what _you_ are doing?" he hissed as quietly as he could. "There is no way…" V'ar's hand tightened sharply on his shoulder, and he broke off. His lips were white.

Behind them Padmé moaned softly. Dormé murmured to her, and the moaning stopped.

Rieeken glanced nervously at the Jedi. "Is she all right?"

V'ar looked serious. "She will be. Much depends on you."

"I won't fail you," he breathed.

V'ar smiled then. "My thanks to you, Carlist Rieeken," she whispered so only he could hear. "May your life be long so that you honor many others with your courage, and protect them with your skill."

"V'ar?" Padmé's voice was sharp. Imperious. "What is going on?"

V'ar paused almost imperceptibly for a breath, and then turned around with a serene expression. "I have another plan."

"Another plan?" Dormé demanded. "You said there wasn't anything we could do! You said we had to sit back and wait …"

V'ar smiled. "There is always another way." She knelt before Padmé, who was beginning to look thunderous despite her pallor. When she took both of Padmé's hands into hers, the look in Padmé's eyes transmuted into shocked understanding. "My Lady," she said quickly, before Padmé could protest, "Please promise me that you will place your own safety and that of your children above all else."

Padmé stared at her wide-eyed. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead and cheeks.

"Above _all_ else. Do you understand?"

Padmé nodded, as if transfixed. Then she caught herself. "V'ar, I absolutely forbid …"

"Promise me, My Lady!"

Dormé looked from one to the other, baffled. Rieeken watched them, dark-eyed, from the Captain's chair.

Padmé swallowed. "I promise." It was barely a croak.

V'ar nodded, let go of Padmé's hands and rose lightly to her feet in a single sinuous motion. By the time Padmé's hands clutched at her, closing on empty air, V'ar already had opened the floor hatch to the small docking bay below the bridge.

"May the Force be with you all," she said quickly, and disappeared below, closing the hatch behind her.

"No! V'ar, wait!" Padmé' flung herself down onto it, clawing at the handle, but a dull thud from below indicated that the seal had locked.

Padmé yanked futilely at the hatch lever. "If there is always another way," she shouted hoarsely at the hatch, "why does it have to be this one?"

"What is the Captain's Yacht?" Dormé demanded, frightened now.

"It's a small emergency ship," Rieeken explained dully. "On a ship this size, it's the size of an escape pod, but with onboard navigation controls."

Padmé sagged against the sealed hatch, cradling her swollen belly with one arm.

"The particle beams from weapons can't disrupt the tractor beam's gravitational waves," Rieeken went on bleakly. "You saw what happened when Pell tried. The Jedi …" he stopped, and then tried again. "V'ar reasoned that the graviton flow could be disrupted mechanically – through the separation of another ship like the Captain's Yacht – long enough for us to break the beam's hold on us."

"If we get away, what happens to V'ar?"

Rieeken shook his head and looked away. His chair creaked as he swung around to the nav. computer.

Dormé dropped to her knees beside her Mistress, silently stroking her hair. The _Patriot_ vibrated briefly with the muted sounds of engines firing.

Then there was silence below.

"_Children?"_ Dormé whispered, to no one in particular.

It was cold in the cramped little ship, but then, it hadn't been designed for luxury. No one was expected to be in there for long.

Nor, if all went well, would she.

Captain's Yacht indeed. Soldiers had a close and personal feeling for irony.

_And Jedi?_ V'ar wondered while quickly surveying the navigation controls. They were quite straightforward. _What do Jedi have in lieu of a sense of irony_?

That was easy to answer. She reached for the engine controls. Jedi had a sense of purpose, as summarized in their creed: "I serve."

The engines fired instantly. Nice. The Yacht had a powerful comms. capability, too; very useful for one in distress who needed to be found.

She switched it off.

Another switch activated the ship's exterior hatch. She could feel the tug on the Yacht as the air left the tiny hatch bay. The stars were surprisingly vivid and clear against the black. Apparently the tractor beam's graviton field created no visible distortion at all.

It was time to see how navigable it was for a small metal can – even one that was more engine than Yacht. She released the anchor couplings and carefully nudged the forward control.

The tiny ship shot out of the bay smoothly enough, but then immediately began to shudder with strain under the intense gravitational barrage. She poured on thrust, keeping the rudder steady, until she felt she had control. It felt like steering a boat through thick soup, but it was possible to navigate through the beam. It was possible! Relieved and hopeful, V'ar was glad that now she really could be of service. She could fulfill her mission.

_I serve._

Carefully she pushed the ship further out into the beam and turned it in the direction of the _Patriot_'s nose. The moment she turned, all resistance fell away, and she had to fight to keep the ship from being pulled forward faster than she wanted to go. Right. Cross the stream, it's sticky. Go with the stream, and it's like sliding down an icy slope. Got it. She assumed it would be as impossible to navigate against the tractor beam's field as it was for the _Patriot_ to break free of it unaided, but she wouldn't have to. All she needed to do was to get in front of the _Patriot_ and to disrupt the stream enough for Padmé's ship to break free.

It really was cold. Cold and dark.

Once V'ar had mastered the art of navigating in the tractor beam her focus broadened and she realized why. It wasn't merely the physical cold of space she was feeling. This place was dark. The Force was heavy and thick with a darkness so oppressive she could feel it in every particle of her being, body and mind.

_This is why I am here. _

To preserve the light… from this.

It felt ugly to be inside that darkness. Ugly and nauseating. But V'ar was glad, in a way, because it was a searing confirmation of the importance of her mission. It was worth anything to prevent the Galaxy from being smothered by this darkness.

Anything.

"Fire!"

Streaks of light lit up the _Intrepid's_ massive scanner screen.

"We got a few before they raised their shields, Sir!"

Smaller target displays around the edges of the screen showed the story. While a number of the _Victorious_' multiple tractor beam arrays had been destroyed, others remained intact.

"Status of the _Patriot_?" Obi-Wan didn't know he was holding his breath.

A disappointed snarl. "Still captive, General. The beam arrays we managed to take out before the shields their shields were the wrong ones …"

Now he knew. Obi-Wan's breath left him in a hiss.

"Incoming!"

Bright flares showed the _Intrepid's_ shields deflecting counter fire from the _Victorious_. Tarkin evidently hadn't believed until the last that his General would actually fire on him – like his raising of the _Victorious_' shields, the volley of return fire had been late.

Obi-Wan had counted on that. He'd hoped they would have avoided – this – by hitting all the arrays before the shields went up. His heart felt like ice.

"Fire again."

The XO looked up in surprise. There was no chance of destroying the rest of the tractor beam arrays now that the _Victorious_ had raised her shields. Whatever he saw in Obi-Wan's face made him rush to comply. Arrows of light streaked across the viewscreen again. They were returned much more quickly this time, and with significantly greater force. The scanner lit up. The Intrepid didn't as much as shudder. The crossfire wasn't dangerous yet – just busy.

"Get ready, Bren," Obi-Wan warned his XO.

"Yes, Sir." The Commander double checked the firing solution he had entered. He didn't dare reach up to wipe the beads of sweat from his temple, lest it cost him milliseconds once the all-important order was given. His eyes were glued to the scanner screen.

"On my mark," Obi-Wan growled, watching the comms. console intently.

The wait could only have been seconds. It felt like an eternity to both men.

The Captain's Yacht flew quite smoothly along the knobby-shaped _Patriot_'s side. The stubby wings weren't much of an obstacle, and since the _Patriot_'s engines were shut down there wasn't any danger of getting caught in the outflows from her forward thrusters. V'ar could see the ship's nose already. It was almost time.

_Time, yes!_ V'ar realized all at once that it was time to prepare. In the same way that she needed to prepare the physical aspects of he mission, she had to prepare herself inwardly. A Jedi was a being that dwelt in two worlds: the seen, and the unseen. They must be aligned. They must be brought into in harmony.

Without closing the eyes that she needed for navigating, V'ar centered herself and drew the Force around her, ignoring the putrid smear of the darkness within it as much as she could. She drew on what light she could find – that within herself, certainly. Padmé's light was like a beautiful beacon, as was that of her children, who were so close to being born. Most reassuring of all to V'ar was the vast light of the Jedi – all that they were, and all they stood for. She drew the light to her, and let it embrace her.

The darkness prodded her, provoking a wrenching sense of loss and regret and things unseen and deeds undone. She pushed the thoughts away. The darkness prodded harder. She stopped fighting it and endured the heartache, but did not allow it steer her. Instead she sought solace in the remembered faces of the Jedi who were her family – her tribe. Her reason for being.

_We serve. _

I serve.

Her metal can rounded the _Patriot_'s nose. Ahead of her lay an infinity of empty space, with a tiny but distinguishable white shape in the center that she knew to be the _Victorious_. She was close. This _had_ to work.

V'ar gathered herself and pushed her tiny craft ahead of the _Patriot_. Carefully calculating her speed and trajectory, V'ar began to zigzag in front of the larger ship. Her engines strained and the ride was jarring, especially on the turns, but hitting the graviton stream at precisely the right angles on each pass helped.

A few more. She needed to move faster to increase the level of disruption. She throttled forward, sliding back and forth in front of the _Patriot_ in a silent slalom. She imagined Rieeken watching, waiting and hoping. Padmé was getting close to needing medical assistance. There was so much at stake.

V'ar flew on, steady and true. The darkness had somehow receded. It almost felt as if she were circled by Jedi who held her fast. She wasn't cold any longer. Her thoughts turned to the face she regretted most not being able to see one last time. She conjured him in her mind. She spoke to him from her heart.

_Please, Obi-Wan. Please make this work. Please don't let us fail._

There was an enormous flash of light so bright she felt it sear into her eyes, blinding her. It didn't matter.

It was as it should be.

_May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan …_

A small signal light flashed.

Obi-Wan gave the order that would haunt him for the rest of his life. "Now!"

Bren Eldritch hit the fire button as though his life depended on it.

On the _Intrepid's_ scanner screen, a small flash perilously near the _Victorious_ lit up briefly, then died away.

_May the Force be with you,_V'ar whispered into Obi-Wan's ear. He trembled.

A small hubbub arose on his bridge. "General! The tractor beam has shut down! The captive ship is gone! Did we just…"

Obi-Wan turned to Bren. "Jump to the _Leviathan_ and request orders from Jedi Master Windu. From this moment on, the command of the _Intrepid_ is yours."

With a quick, warm squeeze of thanks to the startled Corellian's shoulder as he passed, General Obi-Wan Kenobi left the _Intrepid's_ bridge and walked away from the last military command he would ever accept.

"_The truth," _Master Yoda had insisted time after time, "_is always simple. Only deceit confounds our understanding."_

After his sudden, pure burst of lucidity, Anakin felt strangely removed from the bizarre tableau of which he formed a part. This was odd, considering that the darkest question of his heart – the identity of his tormentor – had just been answered.

Perhaps it was the utter obviousness of the answer that left him feeling almost suspended in time and space, wondering how it was possible that he hadn't known all along. But even that didn't seem to matter in the face of the utter simplicity of the truth.

_It is Palpatine. It has always been Palpatine. Since the beginning._

He felt no fear. After the first shock, he wasn't even surprised. He was simply relieved… as though a heavy fist that had been crushing him in its grip for so long had opened at last, leaving him feeling light, and … free.

_He wants me, not Dooku._

A feeling of power rose up through Anakin like a flame in his veins.

_He needs me._

Anakin began to pace – to stalk, actually – around the empty space. He couldn't help it. The urge to move, to respond to the sense of burgeoning power, was overwhelming. His path took him in a near circle around the utterly motionless Count Dooku, whom Anakin no longer feared.

"He's yours, isn't he?" Anakin pointed with the tip of his humming lightsaber at a point somewhere near Dooku's back. "He has been, all along."

Dooku did not move, but his hatred washed over Anakin like acid. It meant nothing to Anakin. All of his attention was on the other man – the cloaked Palpatine – the man who would not, Anakin understood at last, destroy him or allow him to be destroyed, no matter what he said or implied.

"Darth Tyrannus is my servant," the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic's voice assured him from beneath the dark cloak of a Sith. All laughter had died away.

The Force gathered around Dooku, dark and dangerous.

_Darth Tyrannus. _The Sith name rolled around in Anakin's mind. _Of course. _

Anakin continued to stalk, almost preening. "If you wanted me to kill him for you, why didn't you just say so?"

A deep chuckle rolled through the hangar.

"Is that what you think I want from you, Anakin?"

"Among other things." Anakin's humming lightsaber twirled lightly in his hand, punctuating his words with its half-light trail and its half-tone song.

Palpatine remained silent.

"What else?" Anakin asked casually, as if it didn't matter, creating restless whirls of blue light as he paced.

"I want you join me. To rule with me." The pale hands folded serenely into the wide sleeves of the dark robe and disappeared. "A partnership … in all things."

"How dare you!" Dooku exploded, his lightsaber flaring into furious life and finding Anakin's blade before Dooku's eyes did. The crossed blades whined in rising pitch as the warriors pressed against one another. "How dare you!" he shouted again, this time at Anakin.

"Uh-uh-uh," Anakin taunted. "Nice _Servant_. Obedient _Servant_. Now, were you _told_ to do that?"

"You utter fool!" Dooku gritted between his teeth, his face glowing red in the light of his weapon. "There can be only two. A Master and an Apprentice. That is the way of the Sith."

"Then it looks as though your services are no longer required," Anakin crooned.

"There is no partnership among the Sith. Only domination. You will never be his equal. He lies!"

"If you say so." Anakin was alive with awareness; entirely immersed in the moment. Utterly focused. Centered. He knew that Dooku was his to kill. There _was_ nothing else – only that.

Grinning into his enemy's distorted, furious face, he twisted effortlessly away from Dooku's deadlock and with mounting power and speed, slashed at the aging Sith again and again, driving him backward across the hangar. Somewhere in the far distance laughter rang out again. Anakin barely registered it. He had one goal, and only one.

_Dooku must die._

It was all so clear.

There was nothing to fear from this Sith. Nothing.

Dooku fought back like a beast unleashed, all traces of the polished swordsman gone. Feinting with his speed-blurred weapon while weaving cruel distortions in the Force, he rained down deception upon deceit in wild efforts to confuse or blind his opponent. Nothing availed – no trick, and no masterful stroke. Anakin was unstoppable. Locked in ferocious struggle, Dooku backing and Anakin pushing, the combatants very quickly circumscribed a wide circle all the way around the hangar. Suddenly Anakin's ship once again loomed behind Dooku. Visibly panting, the old man ducked unhesitatingly behind its tail.

Anakin slashed the tail off his ship in two vicious swipes. Before the bright yellow metal had even crashed to the hangar floor, a bolt of blue-white energy exploded against his blade, making the hairs rise all over his body and jarring his bones with the shock. Even as his muscles screamed in the aftermath of the deflected energy, Anakin grinned with pleasure. He hadn't seen the bolt coming. He hadn't even thought about using his blade to deflect the worst of it. He had just acted.

It was so simple.

How could he not have known before how simple it was?

Dooku remained hidden behind Anakin's ship.

_Coward_, Anakin thought with a notable lack of irony, considering that not long before he had been the one seeking safety behind it. But that time did not exist for him. Nothing existed but the _here_ and the _now_. Dooku was doomed, and whether he met that fate now or seconds from now made no difference in the grand and glorious scheme of things.

Surging with untold energies, Anakin's body was less patient than his mind, and his lightsaber twirled in great gleaming arcs while he waited for his enemy to move.

It didn't take long

The next volley of destructive energy came toward Anakin at a low angle, from beneath the belly of his starfighter. Eagerly, like a child with a new toy, he jumped straight into its path, swinging his glowing weapon with both hands. Instead of merely deflecting the worst of the energy bolt, his stroke volleyed a good portion of it back at his enemy. The starfighter's belly exploded into sparks. A bright burst of bluish light flared behind it.

_Too close to the ship,_ Anakin decided. _Too dangerous._ Unhesitatingly he flung himself under the ship and rolled quickly underneath it to flush Dooku out. The Sith was just getting to his feet when Anakin arrived, but managed to scramble gracelessly out of the narrow space between the ship and the bulkhead and back into the open arena at the center of the hangar. Palpatine had moved closer, watching with interest.

Far away in the star destroyer, claxons sounded. No one in the hangar cared.

Dooku turned to face his executioner. His stance was not as steady as it had been before, but his courage was unquestionable. "You learn quickly, Skywalker. But will you learn quickly enough?"

Only interested in choosing his moment to strike, Anakin dismissed anything Dooku might say or do as tiresome and irrelevant … until, gripping his lightsaber with his left hand, Dooku raised his right arm in a gesture that even Anakin knew to fear.

The Force was strong with Dooku. All the dark energies that had drawn close to him – all the darkness that was his and much, much more – was gathered around that raised hand.

Anakin hesitated.

"You have nothing to fear, Anakin," Palpatine was suddenly part of the scene, his voice soothing and full of reassurance. "All the powers you require for this task are yours. You have only to use them." _Trust me,_ a familiar interlocutor demanded deep inside of Anakin's mind. _Trust yourself. _

Almost wonderingly, Anakin raised his living hand and felt a sensation like no other. His hand, his whole arm, and quickly his whole body felt like a living power conduit, surging and seething with potential, ready to be unleashed with only a thought. A mere thought!

It would be the same for Dooku. He would need only a thought…

Eagerly, hastily, Anakin opened his mind. With barely a motion from his upraised hand, a wild bolt of blue-white killing power formed beneath his palm and shot straight and true into Dooku's heart.

For a loathsome moment the power stream connected Anakin with his enemy at the deepest level. He felt everything that Dooku felt – the rage, the anguish, the betrayal… _He pities me? How dare he!…_ but then the pain washed over him – Dooku's pain – and Anakin forgot everything but the need to hold on to that power stream, to control it despite the agony until Dooku was dead, dead, dead…

More claxons sounded, right inside the hangar this time, and an inner hatchway clanged open. "Supreme Chancellor!" It was Tarkin, running full tilt toward the man he served above all others.

"_You were not to interrupt me here!" _Palpatine's bellow was almost unrecognizable as his own voice. Its volume, its power, the depth of his outrage, froze not only Tarkin, but Anakin, too. The energy stream ceased. Dooku lay gasping on the floor, struggling audibly to breathe, the front of his tunic smoking.

"The ship, Your Excellency!" Tarkin gasped valiantly, despite his tangible fear, "The rebel ship in our tractor beam… the Jedi have destroyed it rather than allow it to be captured!"

Something snapped in Anakin's mind like a bubble bursting.

His consciousness expanded. His mental isolation – he had thought of it as clarity! – ended then and there.

He looked around him…

… flexed the fingers of his still upraised hand…

…studied Dooku, barely alive on the floor before him…

…remembered everything that had just transpired, as well as everything that had come before…

… and understood that the powers of the man he had known as Palpatine were beyond anything he had ever imagined.

Something inside of him went cold and still.

"What ship?" Anakin asked.

Palpatine's attention was on Tarkin. "_Get out!!!"_ he spat at the terrified Captain. Visibly trembling, Tarkin gathered himself for a deep bow and scurried away.

_Padmé? _Anakin tried, guardedly.

There was no reply. influence

"What ship did the Jedi destroy?" Anakin persisted. "Why didn't I know about it?"

When Palpatine finally turned to look at Anakin, he lowered his cowl to fully reveal his face. His expression was all too familiar – it was the one that displayed deep, wordless sympathy. Anakin had seen it before.

_Padmé? _He tried to reach her again, more recklessly.

"How does it feel?" Palpatine asked.

Anakin stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"The power, Anakin. The knowledge that power – _your_ power – has no limit. How does it feel?"

Anakin strode toward him, gripping his lightsaber. "Answer me!"

Palpatine sighed audibly. "I had hoped to spare you this, Anakin."

"Spare me what?" Anakin moved closer. They were face to face. Palpatine held his gaze unwaveringly.

"I had asked Captain Tarkin to bring in your wife's ship for her own safety. Republic forces are rounding up the Rebels. I wanted … I had hoped … to keep her from harm."

"My wife's ship?" It sounded like someone else's voice asking. Anakin didn't feel anything, because most of him wasn't there. He was elsewhere, desperately searching for…

_Padmé?_

Palpatine sighed again. "It seems the traitorous Jedi … the Jedi who have chosen to turn against the Republic …" he paused delicately. "… your Obi-Wan Kenobi, in fact, apparently decided to take Padmé's fate into his own hands." He shrugged helplessly. "I am so sorry, Anakin."

Anakin's lightsaber was at Palpatine's throat before he had finished speaking.

_Padmé? _Feral demons of thought and feeling fought for dominance inside of Anakin, but they couldn't get past the ice in his veins. _PADMÉ?_ He tried harder.

"She is gone, Anakin," Palpatine said in an odd tone, almost as if he were waiting for something. "The Jedi destroyed her." He licked his lips. "She cannot hear you."

If he was waiting for Anakin to explode, he must have been disappointed. When formed in the deepest places, in the absolute cold of utter desolation – when it is bonded by helixes of hate – ice has remarkable resistance to shattering.

The ice in Anakin's veins held. The demons remained caged.

He studied his mentor coldly. Judging. Speculating. _Just as I thought. He knows about my connection with Padmé. So the question is…_

"_Why didn't I know about Padmé's ship before this?"_

Every trace of Palpatine vanished: the appealing façade, the veneer of humanity; the long-practiced and persuasive mask. In his place stood a being whose Sith name Anakin didn't even know.

"Young fool, "the figure hissed, all pretense of kindness gone, "_you know what I allow you to know!_ No more, no less! Everything you have, has come from me. Everything you want _must come through me."_ He grinned, evidently enjoying his mockery of Anakin's tone. "_Until you choose to grasp your own power."_

Anakin's lightsaber changed its pitch; its hum was higher, sharper. The Sith did not flinch or avert his gaze, but his grin disappeared.

"You cannot harm me, Anakin. You lack the knowledge."

Anakin thrust his blade viciously against the Sith's neck. It stopped. Beyond a certain point, he could push it no further.

"Ask me for the power that is rightfully yours, Anakin. Ask, and the gateway to _all_ knowledge of the Force will open for you."

Somewhere on the floor, Dooku groaned.

"Partners, Anakin. The Galaxy and everyone and everything in it, yours to command."

"Lies," Dooku croaked.

The Sith's eyes remained locked with Anakin's. "Finish him, Anakin. Finish him and ask me for what you want. You need but ask."

"I only want one thing," Anakin gritted out.

"Name it!"

"_I want the power to destroy you."_

The Sith's eyes glittered with excitement. "Ask me! Open yourself to the knowledge of the Sith, and that power is yours!"

Anakin could no longer speak. The demons had found their way into his throat. They were choking him.

"What price?" Dooku gasped, coughing horribly. "What price for your soul, Skywalker?"

_Padmé… _Anakin howled in his mind.

There was no answer.

No answer.

Anakin's terror, his hopelessness, his loss, filled him utterly. There was no space large enough to contain his grief. His despair knew no bounds. Form was meaningless. Structure was meaningless. Self was meaningless.

The ice shattered.

Anakin's demons broke free, leaving nothing inside of him but his own wild keening. Nothing.

He lowered his lightsaber and stepped back from the Sith. The demons were out, his blood was in flames, and he could not speak. Words were meaningless.

The Sith saw, and understood. "Go on…" he crooned, his eyes no longer human. "Go on…"

Anakin whirled away. In three steps he was standing over Dooku, whose black eyes met his without fear.

"Lies," Dooku whispered. "Lies…"

_Shut up._ Anakin's booted foot stamped down on Dooku's neck. The audible snap of his neck breaking was the only mark of his passing; his Sith Master's low chuckle, his only requiem.

When Anakin raised his eyes again, the Sith had raised both arms in the air, the heavy dark sleeves falling away to reveal white skin beneath. His hands circumscribed an arc over his head and down his sides. The line he marked thus shimmered and coalesced into an opening in the Force itself. The arc became an archway. Beyond that doorway – ethereal, and yet utterly real – the Force moved in a vast spiral, a well of limitless knowledge and everlasting power, that called to every molecule of Anakin's being.

He drew closer, without knowing that he did so. Beyond the gate an almighty vortex spun, flinging tendrils out toward Anakin that licked him like living flames. Each touch was like a spark of power surging through his body. For fractions of seconds Anakin felt as if he held the universe _inside - _as though it was his to command.

He sensed the sidereal motion of a billion planets, as if he could move them at will.

The untold energy of a million stars felt within his grasp.

The feeling of power was _his._ It arose from _within._

The only thing that stood between Anakin and that immeasurable beyond was Palpatine. The hated Sith. The Gatekeeper.

"You want this, don't you?" the Gatekeeper crooned. "All of it?"

Anakin nodded mutely.

"Kneel."

Staring the promise of ultimate knowledge and power in the face, longing for it with his whole being, Anakin balked.

"Anakin, kneel before me!"

Anakin didn't. He couldn't. Even in the face of the ultimate desire, he would not bend in supplication. He had not knelt before Master Windu. He would not kneel before the Sith.

The Sith paused, and then shrugged before raising his arms again in an encompassing gesture. "Ask me," he demanded.

Anakin stared through the gateway at the answers beyond. Reached out to it with his hand. Stepped forward, with eyes only for the universe that beckoned.

The Sith laughed. "That will do. Your intent is as binding as your words. The covenant is made." He lowered his arms. The vortex stopped spinning.

The gateway vanished.

Anakin froze, staring.

Dark energies began to roll into the hangar, engulfing it. Drowning Anakin. Changing him in unnamable ways. The inundation seeped under his skin and filled the spaces the demons left behind in his heart and mind with impulses so malevolent that Anakin trembled with them.

The object of those impulses was right there in front of him. Talking.

"In time, my apprentice, all the knowledge you crave will be yours. We are bound together by the darkest powers of the Force. This bond cannot be broken except by death."

_Good._ Anakin reached out like lightning for the Sith's throat. His fist crushed only empty air. He tried again and again, only to fail each time. The Sith was right before him, and yet he could not be grasped.

The Sith stepped closer until his animal eyes were inches from Anakin's. "Make no mistake. _I am your Master_. The powers you desire flow through me, and me alone. _You serve me._"

Everything Anakin thought, everything he felt, took on a darker coloration. Fright became terror. Mute no longer, Anakin screamed, a warrior's roar of rage so great that a wind blew up in the hangar, whipping at their cloaks and tearing their hair. Anger became a destructive frenzy, tearing great sheets of metal from the hangar walls and smashing them to the floor, but to no avail. It achieved no purpose.

The Sith watched him implacably, and waited.

_All this power,_ Anakin mourned, _and nothing can help me now._ It never occurred to him to have hope. Hope belonged to another realm entirely – the realm of the past. There was only the _here, _the _now_, and despair.

It was despair that drove the air from Anakin's lungs and the warmth from his heart and finally, cruelly, drove him to his knees, because there was nowhere else to go in the choking darkness. It no longer mattered. He would be gone soon, anyway. He could feel himself disappearing.

"I name thee …" The Sith intoned implacably over Anakin's bowed head in the most ancient of ancient rites, because the loss of one's name is the loss of the self, "… _Darth Vader."_

_Anakin, _someone whispered into the utter silence that followed the naming.

Slowly he looked up. A shimmer had appeared around the black-robed form of his new Master – a silvery blue iridescence that evoked long-ago feelings and nearly forgotten faces. As his eyes followed the radiance upward, Anakin made out a figure. Booted feet. Strong legs. A gracefully balanced torso. A serene face, balanced by curving lekku. Golden eyes. Her hands were joined flat before her, fingers pointing upward, in the customary greeting between Jedi.

_Anakin,_ she said again. The stifling darkness receded around her. Behind her transparent form the Sith stood, grinning triumphantly – _as if he noticed nothing different at all._

Was it possible – was it _possible?_ – that while some could not penetrate the veils of the darkness, others were blind to the light?

Shimmering gently in that dark place, V'ar bowed deeply. "_I have kept my promise to you, Anakin." _

Suddenly he loved hearing that name.

"_Padmé is safe. She waits for you. Your children are on their way."_ V'ar smiled – a glowing, glorious smile. "_May the Force be with you."_

As gently as she had come, she faded away, and Anakin found himself once more looking into the unnatural eyes of the Sith …

… only this time, without fear.

He found his feet and rose to his full height. "Actually," he said, "my name is Anakin."

"That name has no further meaning for you. In time, you will forget."

_Never._ Anakin looked down at his hands – one metal, one flesh. He raised his palms toward the Sith. Drew the Force around him and inside of him --- deep inside. Dark or light, he didn't care. The Sith's pale face seemed even paler when illuminated by the blue white light that sprang wildly into existence beneath Anakin's hands.

"There is no going back," the creature spat irritably, raising his own hands to ward off the inevitable. "The bond cannot be broken, except by …"

"…. death," Anakin finished. "Yes, I know."

Anakin's killer energy bolt connected with the Sith milliseconds before the other's counterattack warded him off. Surges of deadly lightning flashed between the combatants, illuminating straining bodies and twisted faces. Anakin fought with everything he had, but he knew that his defeat was inevitable. The one brief, abhorrent moment of connection with the Sith given him by that first bolt had been enough to show him the true face of darkness. It was clear that he could not prevail against such entrenched evil. He lacked the mastery that could only be gained over time, by losing whatever was left of his soul.

Anakin broke away and spread out his arms in surrender.

The Sith began to laugh. "It is good that you learn so quickly, Anakin. It will save us a great deal of time in your training."

Anakin moved closer. "I don't even know who you are."

"I am Darth Sidious." Anakin kept coming. "But you must call me….

Anakin came within a nose of the creature that sought to command him – close enough to embrace him. The Sith hastily stepped back, apparently genuinely surprised. Anakin's metal hand snaked out to grasp Darth Sidious' shoulder.

"Never touch me!" the Sith roared.

Knowing full well that he was milliseconds away from unimaginable pain and suffering at the Sith's hands, Anakin pulled Sidious even closer in the hard metallic embrace of his left arm, while his right gestured toward the remains of his little yellow starfighter. A blue-white arc of lightning instantly ignited the ship into a violent, incandescent inferno.

"Never again," Anakin vowed, pressing his enemy against him as the blast engulfed them both.

**Author's Note:**_ A climax, yes, but not an ending... to be continued!_


	41. Chapter 40 Day of Reckoning

**Chapter 40. Day of Reckoning I**

**Nineteen years after the Battle of Nowhere**

Despite the early spring chill, the smooth white heliostone of the balcony absorbed every ray of the sun's feeble warmth, making Sabé's favorite perch as warm and cozy as a fireside. The air was so clear and crisp that the violet mountains ringing Aldera's high plateau seemed close enough to touch. She sighed and wriggled against the warm stone, trying to settle her shoulders more comfortably. Even the pleasantness of her perch and the stunning beauty of the familiar landscape couldn't ease the tension that had accumulated from waiting for the other shoe to fall…

And fall it would. Or perhaps it already had. Any moment now, the backlash would come her way, in the form of …

… ah, yes, there she was…

Quick, angry footsteps pounded the loggia beyond, coming her way. Sabé closed her eyes and turned her back to the sound, pretending she hadn't heard what was coming while bracing herself for the onslaught.

The sound of the steps stopped abruptly at the entrance to the wide balcony. "There you are!" the Princess of Alderaan called out. "I want to talk to you!"

Sabé's mouth twitched, wanting to grin, but she composed her face into an expression both serene and serious before turning to face her very irate charge.

"Hello, my love. What's the matter?"

The Princess stalked closer, fixing Sabé with a glare that once upon a time had flattened her playmates. In its adult iteration it had been known to silence emissaries from faraway star systems. Sabé was delighted to see it now. It meant that Leia hadn't gotten her way. Bail hadn't given in. T_hank the moons and stars…_

"Don't play coy with me, Sabé Marterre," Leia growled. "I'm pretty sure that there is a conspiracy around here, and that you're a big part of it!"

"Conspiracy?" Sabé asked innocently, patting the bench beside her in a friendly invitation. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Stop it, Sabé." Leia flung herself down. "That sort of nonsense is beneath you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sabé lied smoothly. "So just stop grumbling and tell me."

Leia leaned back, raising her face to the sun. "I've never been to Coruscant. All the places I have been – Father has taken me across the Galaxy with him – and I have never once set foot on Coruscant."

"Oh?" Sabé murmured casually, as if it hardly mattered at all, while thinking, _Nor will you, if I or any of us have anything to say about it…not while that creature is alive…" _

"And now I have a chance … a real chance, Sabé! … to do what I've always dreamed of doing. To represent Alderaan in the Senate. And Father is doing everything in his power to keep me from getting the post! I know he is!"

"He is a very influential man," Sabé murmured neutrally, her fingers secretly crossed behind her back. _Bravo, Bail!_

"He couldn't forbid me outright. He tried, of course – but I'm of age and he can't bid me any longer. I have my own connections, too – my own supporters. But they have been falling away, one by one. I went to Father for help, and he refused!" Even in the bright morning, sun, Leia was pale with anger. "He refused to help his own daughter achieve a post that would make other fathers pleased and proud!"

She turned to Sabé, with a look in her eyes that wrenched Sabé's heart. "Maybe he isn't proud of me? Is that why? He says he loves me… he always made me believe it… but he consistently refuses to back me in this. It makes me wonder about a lot of things, Sabé. Is it because I'm not his blood? Is it because I'm adopted? Is it because my parents were nothing but poor refugees?"

Outraged by the unfairness of Leia's accusation, Sabé leaped to Bail's defense. "You know better than that, Leia! He adopted you legally to make sure you received all the benefits of your position as his daughter… so that you could have the best of everything, and no one can ever challenge your position or your inheritance!" _He adopted you to give you a mask…_

"And yet," Leia pointed out, "he does everything in his power to prevent me from becoming a Senator."

"He does everything in his power to prevent you from going to Coruscant!" Sabé retorted heatedly, and then knew instantly from the sudden triumph in Leia's eyes that she had let too much slip. She should never have let down her guard, not even for a moment… the girl was much, much too smart for her own good. For anyone's good.

"Aha!" Leia was suddenly all cool composure. "So _that_ is the heart of the issue? How interesting. Would you like to elaborate on that, my dear and trusted companion?"

Sabé swallowed. "No."

Leia stared directly into Sabé's eyes. "It hasn't escaped my notice that you seem neither surprised by, nor unhappy with Father's decision."

"I only want what is best for you. You know that." _Lame, lame, lame… when did I become so clumsy? She has that unnerving Skywalker 'something'…"_

"So you're not going to enlighten me about why staying away from Coruscant at all costs – even at the cost of the opportunity to serve Alderaan as Senator – is _best _for me?"

"No," Sabé repeated stoutly.

"I see." Leia studied her for a moment, and then deftly changed the subject. "You know what else is interesting? Mon Mothma is here again, looking grim. I saw her outside of Father's office. She brought someone with her – someone I think I've seen before, years ago, but I'm not sure. But the way he looks at me…" Leia stopped, frowning.

Sabé's stomach fluttered. _Nerves. Just nerves._ "A man? What does he look like?"

Leia shook her head. "I saw him, and immediately thought of him as the 'grey man.' I don't know why. It's as though I knew him as a child, and somehow gave him that name back then, although I can't quite place him. He has gray eyes. His hair and his beard are mostly white. And come to think of it, he was dressed in gray robes. He almost seemed to fade into the background, until he looked at me…"

"Looked at you how?" Sabé asked, carefully hiding a sharp surge of relief.

"As though he knew me. As though he knew me through and through." Then, wonderingly, "he has the most penetrating eyes…"

Sabé made a quick decision – one she hoped she would not regret. "I think I know whom you mean," she said carefully. "If I'm right, you have nothing to fear from him. He has more to fear from you – or would, if he knew the meaning of fear."

Leia stared at her, astonished. "Why?"

"He is a Jedi Knight," Sabé said softly.

"A Jedi!" Leia's voice automatically dropped to a whisper when she spoke the forbidden word, just as Sabé's had. "He survived the Purge?"

"More Jedi survived than you might think, my love. This man – Kenobi – has been working with Mon and your father in the rebellion since then. He is very good at fading into the background." She cocked a graceful eyebrow at Leia. "He has to be."

"I would never betray him!" Hot color rose into Leia's pale cheeks. "I would never betray the Rebellion!!"

"I know." Sabé patted her hand soothingly. "I just wanted you to be clear. It's best if you pretend you never saw him."

"He saw me, all right," Leia mused.

Sabé shrugged – a small masterpiece of feigned indifference. "It's the Jedi way. Think nothing of it."

The prospect of a mysterious Jedi visitor seemed to improve Leia's mood considerably. Or perhaps it was the talk of the rebellion. It was Leia's great passion, and a point of enormous pride for her that the Prince of a well-to-do and influential planet supported it so staunchly. "Perhaps that's why Father doesn't want me on Coruscant. If anything slipped… if any links were made between us and Mon and the Rebel Alliance…"

"That's why _I_ don't want you to go," Sabé agreed quite openly. "You would make a superb Senator. Your father knows it, too. But that isn't the issue. In these times there is no place in the Senate – or anywhere in the Republic, for that matter – for honorable and idealistic people. I truly believe that the Alliance is our only hope, and that your many talents serve us better in that arena."

"Away from Coruscant," Leia pointed out dryly.

"That, too."

Leia went quiet for a while. Sabé watched the play of light on the mountains beyond.

"There _is_ more to this than you are letting on, Sabé mine, and I _will_ find out what it is, I promise you. But now I'm going to go find out whether any others of our secretive friends have gathered in my father's study." Leia's eyes grew distant, almost dreamy. Sabé was fairly certain that she knew why. "If Mon Mothma is here, that means _she_ might be here, too…"

"She is," Sabé assured her, stifling the smile that threatened to come to her lips. "I saw her earlier."

Leia shot her a quick appraising glance. "Why does she always come to see you first when she comes to visit?"

"I'm her oldest friend," Sabé said simply.

"You must know everything about her," Leia suggested with deceptive lightness. "Things she never tells anyone."

Sabé merely smiled, hoping that she'd managed to look mysterious rather than smug.

"Why is she so secretive?" Leia persisted. "I mean, Mon is the head of the Alliance and needs to keep secrets more than anyone – and yet she talks freely about her origins and her past. But Lady Starstone never gives away anything."

"Then you need to respect her preference for privacy," Sabé admonished gently.

There was another long silence. Sabé knew that it was just a prelude to another barrage of questions. The mysterious Lady Starstone was a constant source of fascination to Leia – more, Sabé knew, than anyone else the child had ever met. Leia always waited impatiently for her visits. Whenever the Lady arrived on Alderaan, always as an honored guest of the Viceroy, Leia hung around in hallways and behind doors until she finally got the attention that she craved.

When they did spend time together, it was as if no one else in the world existed.

"Why does everyone defer to her, even Mon and Father? Especially Father?" Leia persisted. "Why do they fall silent when she speaks, and hang on every word she says? Why does Mon rarely travel without her? It seems to me," she concluded archly, "that Lady Starstone must be the _real_ leader of the Alliance. Mon is just its face."

Sabé shrugged expressively, an unequivocal 'I'll say no more.'

Leia scowled. "I've looked her up, you know. I've spent hours researching her. There are no records of her anywhere in the library archives or on the holonet. Don't you find that strange?"

"Nice try, Leia, but it won't get you anywhere. You know how hard Alliance members work to remain invisible."

"I did find images of someone who looked a lot like her, though."

"Oh?" Sabé idly smoothed her gown as though she hadn't a care in the world.

"Well, younger, of course. The pictures were twenty years old. She was a Senator – from Naboo. And Queen before that."

"Queen," Sabé murmured. "Imagine that."

"Padmé Amidala." Leia watched Sabé carefully out of the corner of her eye. "The resemblance is remarkable."

There was a long silence. Sabé used it to concoct a new strategy to thwart Leia's latest line of questioning. "I knew Padmé," Sabé admitted at last. "I loved her."

"You did? " Leia looked excited. "And?"

"She died during the Clone Wars." Hating the lie, Sabé added some truth to it. "Her funeral was one of the most wrenching, terrible things I've ever had to endure."

"Oh. I'm sorry." For the first time in her inquisition, Leia really did look contrite. It didn't stop her prying, though.

"So… if you and the Lady Starstone are old friends, did she know Amidala, too?"

"Leia…" Sabé mustered what little patience she had left. "There are reasons why those of us who lived through those times don't like to talk about them. We suffered. Terribly. Don't ask us to talk about things we prefer to forget!"

"I'm sorry, Sabé," Leia said again. Sabé believed that she meant it, but she also knew that Leia was far from satisfied. She would keep pushing and probing and pestering and sleuthing until she drove everyone who loved her – everyone who had devoted half a lifetime to keeping her safe – to despair.

Sure enough, Leia was already exploring another tack. "If Lady Starstone is here with Mon, she must also know the Jedi. She … _oh!" _She lowered her voice. "_Is she also_ _a Jedi_? That would explain so much…"

For one precarious moment Sabé was afraid she would burst into either bitter laughter or real tears. She stifled the threatening explosion as best she could with a fine show of irritation.

"Leia! If Lady Starstone does not wish to speak about her past, you can be sure that she has her reasons! If you care about your friend - if you care about her safety – let it go!"

Leia jumped to her feet. Her eyes sparkled they way they did when she had a head full of new plans and schemes. "All right, Sabé. You win. For now." She planted a generous 'you don't scare me one bit' kiss on Sabé's forehead. "I'll leave you in peace."

"Try not to plague your father's visitors, my love," Sabé muttered, but Leia was already striding down the loggia, her footfalls quick and firm.

It was, Sabé decided, the sound of pure determination.

She closed her eyes and allowed the day's fresh crop of worries to wash over her. This morning's conversation with 'The Lady Starstone' had left her full of foreboding.

"_She's all grown up, Padmé. How long will we be able to keep up this charade?_ _And when the truth does come out – as surely it must – will she forgive us the lies? Will she ever understand why they were the lesser evil?"_

"_I don't know, Sabé. Leia values honesty above all else, and she doesn't forgive easily. But we always knew that her safety would come at a price. If our Bothan intelligence sources are right, we may find ourselves facing her judgment sooner rather than later."_

"_You mean… "_

"_I mean that the fragile balance we have achieved for the last nineteen years is about to shift. The stakes are unimaginably high. The Death Star has been completed, and will be put into service shortly."_

"_Are we ready for that?"_

"_We have no choice."_

"_You'll be leaving again, then."_

"_Yes, first thing tomorrow."_

"_Leia will be furious that you're not staying longer."_

Padmé had laughed knowingly_. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when she starts investigating why…"_

"_I can handle her."_

"_You are one of the few."_

"_How will you travel? Will you be…"_

"…_safe? Yes, Sabé, I'll be very safe. As it happens, a Kalinadian trade mission is leaving Aldera for the Outer Rim tomorrow. Dormé has arranged passage for me. I will be fine."_

That, at least, was a relief. Sabé had never forgiven Dormé for marrying that Kalinadian Duke or Protector or whatever he was and breaking up their tightly knit group. But she had to admit that having a staunch personal supporter in one of the few economic and military powerhouses in the Galaxy that the Emperor actually respected – or at least, that he had the sense to treat with a modicum of caution – had contributed enormously to Padmé's safety over the years.

"_That's all right, then. Nobody crosses the Kalinadians."_

"_With the Death Star trawling the Galaxy, even their power and influence will come to an end."_

Sabé had shivered at the prospect. All these years of preparation – would it be enough? So much depended on Padmé and… and…

"_Padmé…"_

"_Yes, my dearest?"_

Sabé had hesitated before plunging bravely ahead. "… _give him my regards." _

Padmé's smile had been an enigmatic masterpiece. It was exactly the kind of smile that Sabé was determined to master some day – a composition of uncanny perfection that revealed nothing, and yet implied a world of knowledge beyond this one.

x

Having sacrificed everything to become invisible, Padmé carried no name other than assumed ones – "Lady Starstone" was only one of many masks she wore. She had no history, except perhaps her memories and those of her close friends, all of whom would give their lives before betraying her. There was no record of her existence after Padmé Amidala's very public Ceremony of Passing on Naboo during the Clone Wars. She received no credit for her tireless behind-the-scenes work on behalf of the Alliance, and yet it could not function without her. She was a mother who could not reveal herself to her children. A former Queen, she owned no property other than a few clothes and the personal belongings that traveled with her. As much as she traveled, she didn't even have a ship of her own – ships were too traceable. She relied on the charity and discretion of friends and supporters for transport and for her safety, and never once in nineteen years had she lacked for something she needed.

She did, however, have a home – in the last place in the Galaxy young Padmé Naberrie might have imagined in her long-ago girlish fantasies.

The Sovereign Territories of the Outer Rim were the part of the Galaxy that had changed the most after the Clone Wars. While most of the Separatist star systems had quickly returned to the Republic's fold following the failed invasion of the Core star systems and the death of Count Dooku, ending the war in short order, the Outer Rim systems remained more independent than ever.

Theirs was a quiet sort of independence, based on the Republic's unofficial and yet unequivocal "hands off" policy toward the territories that gradually had established their own commercial and administrative center on Tatooine. Over the course of nearly two decades, the Territories had evolved into the largest and most efficient free trade center in the Galaxy. Many said it was the safest, too… although there was no official Republic presence of any kind in the Sovereign Territories, either financial or military.

Legitimate traders carried out their business in the Outer Rim Territories side by side with known pirates who didn't fear capture and representatives of the Trading Guilds who had long since given up trying to bully their way into exclusive trading rights. Inside the territories, commonly understood power structures and lines of authority had no meaning.

Inside, it was as though the Republic did not exist.

Long since freed from the oppression of the now extinct Hutt clan, the autonomous territories exercised a kind of mysterious but effective self-rule. The practice of slavery had vanished with the Hutts. If there were any official leaders in the territories, they ruled from the shadows, in whispers, without name or rank or even a face. All kinds of activities from the scurrilous to the noble flourished side by side without interference, provided that they didn't impose themselves on those who chose not to participate. There was no visible local law enforcement, and yet savvy visitors knew better than to violate local sensibilities in any way. Troublemakers – those who found ways to interrupt the normal rhythms of life, and who drew attention to themselves – simply tended to disappear.

As long as there was plenty of profit for all, no one cared.

And profit, there was. The Independent Territories of the Outer Rim were the creators and purveyors of unique moisture retrieval technologies that could bring life to dead planets and make barren ones bloom. Often imitated, but never successfully duplicated, the specialist technologies were sought after throughout the Galaxy, where they enabled massive reclamation projects and fueled wild swings in the patterns of migration.

The home-grown industry profited all of the Outer Rim's residents in one way or another. Even the moisture farmers of Tatooine, once the poorest of the poor, were veritable princes of commerce. Former slaves were property owners and entrepreneurs. Yet despite their growing wealth, most Outer Rim inhabitants tended not to travel much outside their own territories. In the fearful, oppressed Galactic Republic – a so-called Republic ruled by a self-proclaimed Emperor – they were among the freest of beings, but only as long as they remained within the Independent Territories.

They also tended to reject the visible trappings of wealth favored by their Republic counterparts.

After nearly two decades of independence and prosperity, the major visible changes on most of the Outer Rim planets had occurred in response to the need to feed and house a burgeoning population and to provide better transport. Towns and villages sprawled. Spaceports had grown up like mushrooms. Shiny new speeders abounded. But these changes were nothing compared to a much subtler, but far more significant change in the wild, dusty badlands on the edge of nowhere: the change in the demeanor of populace itself.

While still preferring to wear their traditional serviceable, desert-hued robes, Outer Rimmers tended to stand taller and prouder than anyone remembered. Natives, especially on Tatooine, were inclined to look you straight in the eye with an arrogant tilt to their heads, daring you to say something stupid. When you did, they might shake their heads or even spit contemptuously into the dust at your feet, and then turn their backs and walk away, costing you the business deal you'd been so sure of just because they didn't like the look of you or what came out of your mouth.

That rough place – that dusty territory at the edge of the Galaxy – was the place that Padmé called home. She visited often – as often as she possibly could, given her duties with the Alliance and the need to spend time with her daughter.

As often as she visited, it was never enough. As soon as she left, she longed to return. That place was her center. Her beacon. The light she carried inside.

_He_ lived there.

In the shadows.

Holding destiny in his hands.

_He_ was her only home.

x

The Kalinadian cruiser's arrival on Tatooine was seamless in every respect. There was no jostling for docking space. Amazingly, the mass of bureaucratic documents that the ship had to file had been pre-cleared. Best of all, for once the _entire_ requested complement of loader droids was ready and waiting on the designated cargo platform. The Captain and crew were surprised, but they weren't about to complain. It made for a nice change.

To her hosts' dismay and deep disapproval, the ship's sole guest had repeatedly refused all offers of an escort to her final destination.

"The Outer Rim Territories are no place for a lone traveler," the leader of the trade mission had lectured her sternly. "Particularly, if you don't mind my saying so, My Lady, for a woman of rank."

Padmé had smiled and gestured at her clothing. What rank she might have, at least in the eyes of the Kalinadians, was not at all evident in her subdued and rustic robes. "As you can see, My Lord, this is not my first visit to the Territories. I have friends here. I assure you that I am in no danger."

Even so, the Kalinadian nobleman had arranged to have her discretely followed as she made her way through the busy, sprawling spaceport at Mos Eisley. Her shadower observed that she blended in well with the crowds around her and seemed to attract no unusual attention. The moment she exited the facility, three vehicles seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of her. Without hesitation she entered the middle vehicle, and the convoy roared away.

_Secure escort_, her pursuer thought with satisfaction. _Professionally done._ With a clear conscience, he broke off his pursuit and returned to his ship to make his report.

x

Instead of climbing into the back of the discretely armored personnel transport, Padmé settled herself next to the driver, who greeted her only with a nod before roaring off after the lead vehicle.

"To what do I owe the honor?" she teased. "A droid driver would have done as well. Surely you have more important business."

"Funny," he said dryly. "Very funny."

"Honestly, is this really…"

"Lemme explain it ter ya' this way, Lady. Gettin' ya there safely …" he broke off briefly as he swerved the vehicle violently around a slow-moving string of heavily laden dewbacks, "means the difference between me livin' happily in my skin, or me kissin' my ass goodbye."

Padmé gazed out the windscreen, watching the disorderly crowds in the streets shift and seethe when the vehicles in her convoy showered all passersby with clouds of sand and grit. It wasn't long before the crowded spaceport town gave way to desert. The convoy picked up speed.

"How is he, Pell?" she asked after some time.

"Moody," he said judiciously. "We've all been hopin' yer'd get here soon an' all." He didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on the road ahead.

"That's not unusual, is it?" Padmé stared out at the nearly featureless landscape.

"Yer'll have to decide that fer yerself. Either way, yer a most welcome sight."

_Moody,_ Padmé thought. _That's a tactful way of putting it._ Her eyes still locked on the desolate scenery, she stopped seeing it when her attention turned inward. _Did you get that, Anakin? You're making everyone who cares about you crazy._

The reply that came to her wasn't exactly articulate. It was more along the lines of an impatient wave of longing, urgency and need.

"Can we go cross country?" Padmé asked abruptly.

"I thought yer'd never ask!" Pell grinned, wreathing his sunburned face in creases. "Offroad! Now! Follow my lead!" he barked into the comm., and then yanked the heavy speeder around until its nose pointed at a jagged rise of hills in the distance, shifted gears and revved the engines. Its powerful engines whining, the vehicle surged across the stony terrain with its two companions following smartly behind. Padmé's view outside vanished entirely into clouds of dust, punctuated by the steady staccato of small rocks bouncing off the vehicle's armored hull. She closed her eyes and endured the ride as patiently as she endured everything.

She was far away in her thoughts when the noise finally subsided. Pell brought the heavy speeder gently to a stop at the entrance to a small, deep canyon that looked as wild and uninhabited as the rest of the surrounding landscape.

As with so many things, appearances were deceptive.

Padmé made to get out of the vehicle but Pell restrained her with a sinewy arm. She watched as the drivers from the other vehicles picked their way over the rocky ledge at the canyon mouth and disappeared from view. She waited with her protector in a comfortable silence until they remerged. One shook his head and shrugged.

Pell looked at Padmé expectantly. She closed her eyes.

_Anakin, where are you? _

On the rise above the compound. Come find me there.

"He's up on the rise. He wants me to meet him there."

"Yer'll have to walk." Pell pointed out a nearly hidden footpath that led up to the top of a canyon wall. "Go at yer own pace. We'll secure the area below."

"Before I go, there is something I need you to do for me." Padmé rummaged in her travel bag until she found a piece of old-fashioned parchment – the kind that was easily destroyed. "Please contact this man and ask him to meet me here. I wasn't able to do it myself because I didn't have access to a secure comm."

Scowling, Pell took the scrap and studied it. "Typho?" He glanced up at Padmé dubiously. "Do I know him?"

"I don't know," Padmé said calmly, but with a hint of durasteel in her tone. "But I do."

Pell got the point. "Yes, ma'am!"

Padmé thanked him, let herself out of the vehicle, and trudged toward the path, wishing it wasn't quite so hot. She hadn't gone far before she removed her light cloak and carried it over her arm. As she climbed higher up the ridge, a little movement in the air brushed gently across her face, which helped.

_I come halfway across the Galaxy to see you, and now you're making me hike all the way up there? _

I'll make it worth your while. I promise.

So she walked and climbed while he kept her company in her thoughts. Finally, when she rounded the last bend and saw the heavily cloaked and hooded figure standing alone at the end of the path, she knew she was home at last. She ran to him, embraced him; clung to him as desperately as he clung to her. She could feel the heat rising off him under his dense cloak.

"Aren't you too warm in this heavy thing? Surely up here, where you are all alone…"

He sidestepped her question by drawing her toward the edge of the path. "Look," he rasped. "This is what I wanted to show you."

She pulled her face away from the folds of his cloak and, shading her eyes against the slanting afternoon glare of the twin suns, followed his gesture to see … green. Green! The rich green of moisture-loving vegetation, so alien to Tatooine, as far as the eye could see…

"Oh, Anakin…" Words failed her. It was an astounding achievement. It meant that he had solved the problems of moisture and nutrient delivery in barren soils in a way that could be replicated and applied on a huge scale. But more than that, she understood how important it was to Anakin to build something positive; to create rather than to destroy…

"You're right." She hugged him again, through his thick robes. "This is worth ten long climbs… no, a hundred! Are they food crops?"

"Argalian sweetwheat. It's hardy and forgiving and not too sensitive to variations in the length of the growing season."

Padmé shaded her eyes again, looking out into the distance. "Are those Owen's lands?"

Anakin grunted. "We cut a deal. I almost doubled his holdings in exchange for allowing the experiment. He won't lose out."

"And Luke," Padmé interjected quickly. "How is Luke?"

Anakin paused for a moment, as if listening for something faint and far away. "See for yourself," he murmured. A moment later, the vast windy stillness at the top of the only rise for kilometers around was shattered by the whine of twin engines. She heard the small aircraft moments before she saw it.

Moving fast, it entered the canyon from the far end and shot through it sideways, rattling the canyon walls, its engine wash loosening huge boulders that tumbled onto the ancient rock piles below. Anakin grabbed Padmé tightly and pressed her against a solid rock wall, covering her with his body until the shockwave passed. By the time it had, the speeding craft was nowhere to be seen.

"That's the new T-27X," Anakin said proudly. "But he seems to have made quite a few modifications."

Padmé stared at Anakin – or at least at where his face would be if he didn't insist on shrouding it in that wretched hood. "What was that all about?"

"He's angry." Anakin didn't sound at all displeased. "I'm guessing he's just been told that he isn't allowed to apply to the Academy."

"Oh… I see." She did see. Padmé's heart went out to Luke. "Leia just went through the same thing. Bail is doing everything in his power to keep her from becoming a Senator. She wasn't any happier."

"It's just as well." Anakin laid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close, and drew her back toward the path that led down to the canyon. "There won't be a Senate for much longer."

"What do you mean?" It was very odd to feel such a chill in the midst of the desert heat.

"The Emperor is about to consolidate his power once and for all by dissolving the Senate."

"By the Gods…" There was no need to ask him how he knew. He just did – as he knew so many, many things that had kept the Alliance alive and growing all these years. As she rolled the news around in her head, the truth of it became clear. "Now that he has the Death Star, he no longer needs anyone's cooperation. He can do as he pleases."

Anakin didn't answer.

"The time has come, Anakin." Padmé's free hand was clenched into a tight fist. "We have to act."

He walked quietly beside her but didn't respond.

"And the children … it can't go on like this any longer. They are grown, and have their own lives to lead. We can't keep holding them back. Even if we wanted to, they won't allow it. They will break away – both of them. It's just a matter of time."

Sliding his arm off her shoulders, he grasped her hand to guide her past a small rockslide. But still he made no answer.

"All right," she conceded at last, forcing herself to relax. "We'll talk later. But we do need to talk. You know that."

Anakin merely squeezed her hand silently. She wished he would take off that damned cloak and hood so she could see his face. He must be boiling in the afternoon heat. But he was proud and stubborn and obstinate and… well… he was Anakin. Suddenly Padmé couldn't wait to get down the path and into the dim, cool comfort of the rock-hewn compound's main house. Once there, in the place where he managed to conceal his existence from the whole universe, he would have no place to hide from her.

"Come on," she urged, speeding up and pulling him along by his gloved hand. "I can't wait to get home."

It was always agonizing when she returned to him. In her absence he could hide; sometimes even pretend that nothing had changed, that everything was as it should be. He longed for her desperately every moment that she was away. With the same desperation, he feared her return – or rather, he feared those first few moments of her return, when he once again was forced to see himself reflected in her eyes. _My true self,_ he thought bitterly. _Body and soul._And yet she stayed with him, and she loved him.

He didn't know why.

She claimed it didn't matter. She claimed she didn't care. She was either a liar or a saint – probably both – and he loved her with a passion whose fervency was only matched by his hatred for himself and for what he had become.

_I shouldn't be alive_, he thought in an ancient refrain. _I should have died._ And yet he clung to his life with everything he had within him because of _her._ He clung to life and fought back and worked to make amends, knowing that whatever he did, it would never, never be enough…

She laid her cloak aside and wandered around the comfortable, spacious low-ceilinged room as if reacquainting herself with it. Her luggage had been brought in and neatly placed by the door. They were entirely alone. He knew that she was giving him time to adjust to the idea of revealing himself to her. She didn't push. She waited.

She knew him so well.

When she stopped in front of an earthenware plate on which five mud-colored, approximately oval stones rested, Anakin jumped at the chance to postpone the inevitable just a little longer.

"Firestones," he explained in the rough voice that was the best he could produce. "They were a gift from someone who owed me a few favors. Have you ever tried to make them flame?"

"Me?" She smiled. "No. I don't have that power."

"You might be surprised." He moved closer, but only a little. "Try it. Concentrate on a particular stone – any one."

She shot him a look that let him know in no uncertain terms that she was humoring him. "All right." She gazed at the stones for a short while, and then stepped back with a little scream when one of them – the one in the center – suddenly blazed up in a visible flame that nearly reached the ceiling.

Anakin's laugh was cut off by a rough cough. "See?" he said when he had finished coughing. "Your powers are great, My Lady."

"Are they?" She turned to him with a particular light in her eyes, and he knew he was doomed. Her patience had come to an end. She moved toward him. He took one involuntary step backward and then stopped, shivering a little, like a wild animal that knows it has been caught. Padmé raised both arms to grasp his heavy hood and gently – very gently – lowered it. Tenderly she rested her hands on both sides of his face equally: the side with the smooth, undamaged skin, and the side with flesh that was distorted and scarred, a constant reminder to him of the price he had paid for their existence. She smiled at him as if there was no difference, and then wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with her sleeve. His heart pounded mercilessly in his chest.

"There," she murmured. "That's better, isn't it?"

He trembled beneath her hands. When they left his face to tackle the clasp that fastened his cloak, he felt their loss. When she pushed the hot heavy thing off his shoulders and slid her hands around his chest and onto his rutted back to pull him into her embrace, the joy of her touch almost perfectly balanced his distress.

She knew every scar on his body – each twisted limb, every evilly mottled inch of flesh – and never had she shrunk away from him. Not once. But the pain of knowing that he could never be perfect for her went far beyond any of the physical agonies he had suffered over the years.

The cloak… the cloak helped him to hide from himself. If he suffered in it, all the better.

But she was right. The cool air in the house felt wonderful.

Not as wonderful as her touch, though.

"I brought you some things," she whispered.

"Later," he growled, afraid she would let go of him. "Give them to me later."

"One of them can't wait." She slipped away, leaving him bereft, and went to rummage in her luggage. Behind her, the firestone she had activated continued to flame. Anakin wandered over to it and studied it thoughtfully. With a wave of his hand, the flame intensified into a bright column that broadened out to take a shape – the shape of a face.

That face. Ancient. Distorted. Grinning.

Evil.

The face stared at him. Anakin stared back.

Behind him, Padmé gasped. "Anakin… is that how you know? Is that how you follow his movements? How you know what he is going to do, and when?"

"With the firestones? No, they're not much more than a parlor trick. They're useful in focusing your attention if you know how to use them, but only if there is already a connection. The real connection is inside here… and here." He pointed first to his scarred skull, and then to his smooth chest.

Only those places on his body where he had actually touched the Sith – where he had embraced the evil one, pressing against him – had been protected from the explosion. Every other part of him – every part not touching the man who didn't want to be touched – had been mutilated in the blast that should have destroyed them both.

_Should have_. How little he had known about the true nature of the Dark Side then. How little he had known of its power.

How ironic that in saving himself, the Sith Master had also saved his traitorous apprentice.

_My Master. _

How he wishes he had destroyed me.

Padmé drew closer. She was holding a small pot. "How can you bear to look at him?"

"I force myself to."

"Why, Anakin?"

"To remind myself what it is to hate."

She stared down at the pot in her hands. It smelled like some kind of a salve. She was always bringing him new remedies. "How can you heal if you don't let go of your hate?"

That was the question… and the answer. He couldn't let go. He mustn't. It was the thing he had never been able to make her understand.

"If I didn't hate him, I couldn't hold him."

Padmé sat down abruptly on the nearest seat. "I don't understand, Anakin. I never have. How do you always know – from _across the Galaxy_ – where he is, what he is doing, and what he is planning? It's uncanny. Everything you tell us is true. For twenty years we have been able to thwart him at every turn. The courts remain independent. He hasn't been able to push through legislation the way he did before. No one is willing to start another war, so diplomacy is back in fashion, even about the most egregious…" she stopped. "Until now, of course. Until the Death Star."

Anakin waved his hand again and the firestone went dark. Enough of that face. It was upsetting Padmé. Just before its light extinguished, he noticed that a second firestone behind it had begun to flare as well, and stored that information for later. A little stiffly because of the hypersonic leg braces, he knelt down in front of her, removed the little pot of salve to a side table, and took both of her small hands in his large scarred one.

"When I accepted the … mantle… of the Dark Side, it was like opening a gateway to unimaginable powers. I perceive… I know… I can…" he opened and closed his gloved metallic fist…. "I can … do so many things. Indescribable things." _I can, I have, and I will again, if necessary._ "But I accepted that mantle through him, creating a bond … a link, if you will … that is unbreakable until one of us dies."

"Then why do you let him live, Anakin?" Padmé fixed her eyes on his. "Why don't you go after him, and finish him off once and for all?"

"You know the answer, Padmé. You know it." He said it gently, in the way one revisits an old, old, argument – one that is too important to leave alone, but is ultimately not winnable. "It's the reason I'm here and you're out there and I hold my breath during the long weeks and months until you return to me again. It's the reason I can't follow you or be with you. It the reason …" He paused. "It's the reason our children don't know who we really are."

"Because of us – because of you and me."

"Yes."

"You're still afraid – after all these years – that he will find us."

"I know he would."

"You and I are linked, too." Padmé sounded sulky. "Why doesn't he find me …us… through you?"

"It's different."

"How?"

Anakin took a shuddering breath. "For him, the gateway to the Dark Side and all that lies behind it is all. It is everything. To him, nothing else really exists. To him, I am only the traitorous apprentice whose continued existence prevents him from taking on a new, better apprentice. Instead of working with him and augmenting his powers with mine, I struggle against him."

"I have an image of the two of you circling one another, locked in eternal conflict, but never engaging."

"Oh, we engage, Padmé. We engage all the time. It is as I said. I keep him at bay. He can't prevail as long as I'm pushing back, keeping the balance. He will do anything in his power to alter that balance – including destroying you and Leia and Luke, if he were to find you."

"Then why hasn't he found us, Anakin? I still don't understand."

"He is incredibly powerful, Padmé, but even his power has limits. I didn't know that until V'ar…" He stopped, needing a moment. His voice was getting rougher from unaccustomed use. His damaged lungs were weak. Padmé waited patiently for him to gather himself. "As tainted… as _imprisoned…_ as I am by the Dark Side, there is a difference between us. For me it isn't everything. There is more… a higher purpose. Something more important than power. Something that you taught me." He looked up at her. "Love. He knows nothing of it. So you could say that I have the advantage of greater knowledge. I know where he is blind."

"I didn't teach you to love, Anakin," Padmé said huskily. "You came to me already bursting with it, looking for someone to give it to. I just happened to be there."

Anakin shook his head. "You know that's not true. I exist … for you. Only you. I think I always have."

Padmé leaned closer to rest her forehead gently against his. "How long can this go on, Anakin? It can't go on forever. He's an old man – he won't live forever. When he dies… will you finally be free? What happens to the …balance… then? Will you be able to finally join your family?"

"Perhaps." Once opened, the gateway to the Dark Side would not close. Anakin knew this. It wasn't possible to give back knowledge. It would never be possible to go back to 'before.' But if he just let her believe…

"Things have changed, Anakin. The balance is shifting. Even I can sense it. With the Death Star as a tool, he has increased his power and reach immeasurably."

Anakin was seized by a spasm of coughing. As strong as he was with the Force, his damaged physical body stubbornly continued to require frequent rest.

Padmé retrieved her hands and stood up. Gently holding him by the shoulders and helping him to stand as well, she steered him in the direction of the bedroom, deftly retrieving the pot of salve in the process. "That's enough. It's time for you to rest. The Galaxy will survive one more day."

"You're right," he wheezed once she had settled him as comfortably as possible onto the huge, soft bed she had insisted on providing for him, along with the luxurious bedcovers that wouldn't irritate his damaged skin. "He _has_ succeeded in shifting the balance. I don't know how much longer I can hold him. I didn't want to tell you."

"Then it's a good thing I came armed with a plan," Padmé murmured.

Anakin's drooping eyes flew open and pierced her with one of those intense, uncompromising, focused looks that could make strong men tremble, liars confess, and outlaws repent.

Padmé only smiled.

_(to be continued….)_


	42. Chapter 41 There Are No Endings

Well, here it is – the final chapter of "Ring of Fire." I can hardly believe it myself. It has been an often fraught but generally amazing two – year journey for me.

I'm incredibly grateful to every reader who ever stopped by to let me know they were reading. I'm astonished and awed by the hardy few who stayed with the story from the beginning. Thank you so much. I will miss you all.

I owe a special thanks to all the people who have helped me along the way by reading drafts, beta-reading, and just generally listening to me moan or ramble. **DarthBreezy**, thanks and hugs for always being there through thick and thin! **ELDRITCH**, I owe you big time for all your time and energy and support. **JediMasterRev **and **Souderwan,** thanks for being there and for pinch hitting when I needed you!

Most of all, thank you for reading – whoever and wherever you are. Please stop by the thread one last time – or for the first time! – to say goodbye.

**Chapter 41. There Are no Endings, Only Beginnings**

On the day when Democracy finally died in the Galactic Republic, Alderaan's last Senator thought for one overwhelming moment that he had seen a ghost. Afterward he couldn't say what, precisely, had shocked him to a standstill in the middle of a crowded corridor in the Senate Building – was it the face he had glimpsed, or the impossibility of having seen it?

It was a face Aeron still found himself searching for in crowds, in holofeeds, and sometimes, dreamily, in the cloud formations of his native Alderaan. He still thought of her often, and always with guilt and sadness.

But he couldn't have seen her. Dellia was long dead.

The enormous corridor outside the Senate Chamber was mobbed with people trying to get inside for the final session of Congress. When Aeron abruptly halted in the midst of the flow it took several collisions, accompanied by mumbled apologies or muttered oaths, to get him moving forward again.

He looked around; desperately seeking another glimpse of the face that had frozen him in place. It was nowhere to be found in that crowd. Everyone was in such a hurry to get inside – and what for? To observe first hand the final blow in Palpatine's systematic extermination of Democracy? To approve it?

_Emperor_ Palpatine. It was incredible. How was it possible that the Senate hadn't stopped him long before this? But they had not stopped him. After today, Aeron and his colleagues slink home wrapped in failure and futility and fear. Henceforth the Emperor and his military machine would govern the Galaxy in dictatorship and rule it with terror.

Aeron was surprised that the brief appearance of a face from the past could make him momentarily forget the terrible present. Perhaps he was losing his grip on reality in the face of the nearly unbearable tension and anger that had marked his term as Alderaan's last Senator? Perhaps he was more worn out than he had thought? The face he had seen (surely he hadn't imagined it?) had been young – as young as _she _had been the last time he'd seen her. But nearly twenty years had passed. She would have changed as much as he had… _I'm being ridiculous. Dellia is dead. She died in the Temple that night along with her Jedi 'protectors,' and I coudn't save her…_

To the utter annoyance of a number of hurrying Senators behind him, Aeron halted in his tracks a second time, searching his memory for details of the face he had seen so fleetingly. It had been so familiar – that pale oval, those wide-set eyes – but when he thought about it more, there _had_ been differences. It was hard to be certain given the corridor's subdued lighting, but the eyes had seemed a different color; lighter, perhaps. And the hair – well, it had seemed darker, with glints of red that he didn't remember Dellia's hair having.

The crowd continued to stream around Aeron on both sides while he stood stolidly in place, thinking and wondering.

x

When the corridor had emptied out and penultimate session of the Galactic Senate was finally called to order, the Senator for the Alderaan System was not present in the Chamber.

It didn't matter. Who would take note, or care? A Senator already was a thing of the past, and of no consequence.

"Well, my dear? Did you attend the session?"

"Of course I did."

The Emperor of the Galactic Republic leaned back in his chair and contemplated his young visitor with the usual mix of irritation and solicitude. The irritation came from the child's continued breathtaking indifference to the reverence and the protocol due his august personage. She dared to sprawl sideways in his visitor's armchair with one booted leg casually flung over the arm rest. Instead of watching his face anxiously for any sign of displeasure, as one ought, she allowed her eyes to wander around the room and out the window. She never used the honorific when she addressed him. And most irritating of all, she was far more likely to be bored than afraid.

"And… what did you think?"

The girl shrugged. "S'all right. You said you were going to do it, and you did." _Big deal,_ was the unspoken subtext.

"Politics do not interest you? The uncontested replacement of a so-called Democracy by absolute Empire does not impress you?"

The girl merely shrugged. Palpatine contemplated her for a while.

Though she could be infuriating, he approved of the qualities that made her that way – most of them, anyway. She was without a doubt fearless, and utterly disdainful of fear in others. She was intelligent and ambitious enough for his purposes. Her sense of entitlement was unsurprising since he had brought her up as his rightful heir, with the best of everything and the expectation of inheriting all. Most importantly, she was strong with the Force, gratifyingly trainable, and entirely dependent on him – his creature in all things. At the age of nineteen she already had the skills of an accomplished Jedi Knight, but her spirit had never been stifled by the cloying strictures of their ridiculous Jedi Code. Under the circumstances, her youthful arrogance was understandable.

"I have a surprise for you, my dear."

The girl's eyes flickered in distrust at his repeated use of the endearment. "Oh?" She asked with studied nonchalance, as if she didn't care.

But she did. He could sense her curiosity. She could hide nothing from him.

"Now that the question of Empire has been settled, I have decided to begin your training in earnest."

He eyes widened. He had captured her interest after all. He refrained from smiling.

"_More_ training? Why would I need more training? I'm over-trained as it is. There is no one who can match me." Her mobile mouth pursed with the faintest hint of sullenness. "It's a pity you destroyed all the Jedi. At least _they_ might have posed a challenge."

Ah, the arrogance. It would disappear shortly.

"You have barely begun your training, young one. I suggest you refrain from questioning me."

This time her long legs swung off the chair and her booted feet landed squarely on the floor. The sullenness had left her face, replaced by antagonism.

"Then tell me for what I'm to be trained! I'm already bored to tears!"

Palpatine let an eloquent silence pass between them before asking slowly and deliberately, "Do I understand correctly that you are bored because you feel that you have achieved the peak of your powers?"

She glared at him, refusing to answer, but it was answer enough. She was tensed and ready for a confrontation – feet firmly planted, thighs like springs, the Force gathering around her.

A second later she flew out of her chair backwards as if yanked by an invisible chain and smashed into the far wall of Palpatine's office. The only reason her neck didn't snap was because she managed to cushion the impact with the Force. Her body crumpled onto the floor and she lay still, gasping.

Palpatine got up slowly and crossed the office to her without hurry. She was conscious, with blood trickling from her nose and one arm twisted in an odd position.

"When you can best me," he hissed, "_then_ you can call yourself powerful. Until that time, you still have much to learn."

The girl did not answer; nor did she moan or cry out. Her eyes glinted with the green fire that lit their depths when she was in the grip of powerful emotions. He probed her feelings ruthlessly, without restraint or permission. He found no trace of fear. He sensed anger, ambition – and determination. She was probably plotting his demise.

_Excellent._

"Get up. See to yourself. Your training begins at dawn tomorrow."

The girl struggled to her feet without a whimper and walked stiffly to the door of his office, holding one arm protectively with the other. Just before she reached the door, she turned around and favored Palpatine with a bow of the appropriate form and depth.

He nodded graciously in return.

She was worthy of his training. Truly worthy, unlike that despised Other One. As an infant, the child had impressed him by surviving the destruction of the Jedi Temple against all odds. He had found her screaming in a pile of the dead, and immediately had understood her potential – she was strong with the Force but too young to have been ruined by the Jedi. In her, the Force itself had provided him with the solution to the terrible quandary in which Anakin Skywalker's unprecedented treason had placed him. He had resolved at that moment to raise her, without interference, to become his new apprentice.

She had done well. She would meet his needs. Her overconfidence would not last; fear and respect would come quickly enough. And once her dark training was complete, she would realize that she could not grasp the ultimate prize without first destroying Skywalker.

Palpatine smiled to himself. Once she learned about Skywalker's murder of her Jedi father, he was quite sure she would not stop until she had succeeded.

x

"You!!!" Anakin growled at his unexpected visitor, but he reserved his killer glare for Pell, who was responsible for bringing the man into the compound without his knowledge or authorization.

The man with Pell bowed politely. Anakin did not return the greeting.

"Have you gone mad, Pell? I said no visitors!"

Pell stood with his feet planted firmly and his arms crossed over his chest, rocking a little from heel to toe. He had a stubborn look on his face. The visitor gazed up at the ridge beyond, pointedly ignoring Anakin's temper tantrum. A piece of personal luggage sat beside him. This made Anakin even more furious. _He's not planning to stay, is he…?_

"Answer me!"

"I was followin' orders," Pell responded calmly. "I was told to fetch 'im, an' I did. _Per orders," _he emphasized again.

"I did _not_ order you to…"

Suddenly Padmé was beside him. Anakin desisted, albeit sullenly. He had little enough of Padmé's time and attention as it was, and he bitterly resented the intrusion into their privacy. The fact that she had evidently arranged the intrusion hurt.

"Thank you, Pell," Padmé said warmly. "You never fail me."

The little man bowed deeply to her, and with a triumphant glance at Anakin, excused himself. By the time he had turned away, Padmé was hugging the visitor so hard that he involuntarily staggered back before somewhat awkwardly returning her embrace. His nervous glance toward Anakin gave away his discomfort at her display.

_Good! _Anakin thought with satisfying hostility. Since he couldn't be angry with Padmé, he had to turn it on someone. _Be afraid! Be very afraid!_

"General, I am so grateful to you for coming – and so quickly!"

"Anything for you, My Lady," Typho said with all the warmth his still-awkward demeanor allowed. "You know that."

_General?_ Anakin thought sourly. In place of his Alliance Officer's uniform, Typho wisely wore only shabby local clothing. _They promote everyone lately._ _Next thing you know, they'll be commissioning pirates and farm boys._

"Did you bring it?" Padmé asked eagerly.

Typho ventured a little smile, which transformed his face. "Of course, My Lady. It took some doing, but I finally have the complete prototype based on your exact specifications…" he again glanced cautiously at Anakin, who by this time was even more irate because he didn't know what they were talking about. Typho lowered his voice. "Do you want it now?"

Anakin shifted impatiently. Padmé stroked his arm soothingly.

"Yes, why not," she agreed. "Have them bring it inside. Then come have some refreshments. You must be tired after your journey."

"Thank you, My Lady. I'll be there shortly." With a last, almost furtive look at Anakin, Typho headed back out toward a cluster of vehicles at the canyon entrance.

Anakin turned on her. "Would you like to explain to me just what…"

"Yes, Anakin, I would. I would very much like to explain everything to you as soon as General Typho returns."

"Hmph." Anakin growled and grumbled, but followed her back into the main house because she had bidden him. There was nothing he would not do for her, and mostly he was frustrated by how little she asked of him. He would happily have showered her with the wealth of the Galaxy and placed armies at her feet, but all she ever wanted was help and support for her Rebel Alliance network and safety for their children. He did all he could, diverting vast amounts of legally and illegally acquired wealth to secret Alliance cells across the Galaxy, all the while spying on his Master while shielding his family from him. Sometimes it took everything he had, but he gave willingly and wished she would ask for more.

Of course, she also wanted him to be patient and just and honorable, but that was a near impossibility. Anakin could not have built and ruled the New Independent Territories without availing himself of the _all_ the resources available to him. Only by using the Dark Arts could he cling to life, protect his family, secure his territories, and keep the _Other_ at bay all at the same time. Deep down, Anakin was sure that Padmé did not fully understand who and what he had become. Terrified that she would reject him if she comprehended all the aspects of his true nature, he tried hard to walk a path that would not dishonor or disappoint her.

When she was with him, he deferred to her in everything.

Anakin was aware that his meekness and deference in Padmé's presence was a much-discussed subject among his inner circle of followers and hangers-on, but he didn't care. As long as they remained loyal and did their jobs they could think what they liked. They knew enough not to cross or betray him. They also understood that Padmé's word was as much law for them as it was for Anakin. Pell had acted rightly.

But Anakin was still aggravated. For the first time it appeared that Padmé was taking full advantage of her access to Anakin's people, and Mon Mothma's too, judging by Typho's presence. He couldn't imagine what she was up to.

When he found out, he had to desperately seek the Light to keep from flying into a dangerous rage.

Typho returned to the house pushing a long, boxy rectangular container ahead of him. On entering, he de-activated the container's repulsorlifts and let it settle on the floor by the door. Without further comment he joined Anakin and Padmé for tea. For an infuriatingly long time Padmé and Typho had chatted about people, places and events that didn't interest Anakin at all. No one had mentioned the container. His eyes kept straying to the door, where it sat mutely. Even a Force probe had revealed nothing. For some reason, it gave him a very bad feeling.

Padmé seemed to sense when Anakin's patience had reached its absolute limit. In the nick of time, she turned to him and took both of his hands in hers. Anakin braced himself, not quite knowing why.

"Anakin, I have asked General Typho to procure something for you – something that will allow you to move around freely and to travel without discomfort."

Anakin stared straight into her eyes. "Why," he asked mildly enough, "would I want to do that?"

Padmé didn't waver. "Because it's time for you to take your rightful place in the Alliance."

Typho looked quickly from Padmé to Anakin and back again with visible alarm, as if this was news to him as well.

Anakin couldn't think of a response. He was too busy wondering what could have happened to make Padmé loose her grip on rationality.

"You know how much the Alliance network has grown over the past nineteen years and how strong we have become. We have well-developed cells throughout the Galaxy. Through the generosity of many secret supporters, we have a large number of mobile command bases and a reasonable amount of resources. Thanks to you we have been able to remain fairly well hidden and to know more about our enemy and his plans than we had ever thought possible." She glanced away for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. "It is time for the Alliance to come out of the shadows."

Anakin didn't say a word.

"We can't win as long as the Emperor remains in power." She took a breath. "You are the only one who can destroy him, Anakin. We need you. The Alliance is at your disposal."

The ensuing silence lasted so long that Typho began nervously tapping his fingers on his knee. Padmé's gaze remained steady, but her hands trembled in Anakin's.

"You know perfectly well why that is not possible," he said at length. His tone was still mild, but the room seemed to grow colder.

"I understand your reasoning, Anakin. You can't keep us all safe at the same time if you are distracted elsewhere. But what if… what if we were all together? As a family, I mean. What if we traveled and… worked… together?"

Anakin couldn't believe it. She _had_ lost her reason. She couldn't seriously be suggesting that they endanger their children…

"Leave us!" he snapped at Typho. Padmé was venturing into private matters that should not be spoken about in front of others.

The General jumped to his feet instantly, but Padmé intervened. "Please, General, stay for one more moment. Perhaps you could open the container…"

Anakin yanked his hands away from Padmé's and pointed to the thing by the door. "I've had enough! What _is _that?"

Typho hurried to the container and fumbled with the seals. The lid hissed open and he pulled out something that at first glance looked like a Clone-Wars era armor of the kind issued to the cloned troops. It appeared to be a molded white full-body armor of some kind, but the resemblance ended quickly upon closer inspection. The breast plate looked like some kind of a control panel. The interior was a mass of circuits, wires and tubes whose purpose Anakin didn't want to imagine. Typho laid it out on the floor piece by piece. It looked like a fallen soldier, complete from high neck to boots to gloves – only headless. Anakin stared. When Typho retrieved an odd, almost bell-shaped helmet and face mask combination from the container and added it to the assembly, Anakin lost control.

"What in the seven hells do you think you're doing?" he bawled, leaping to his feet as well as he was able.

Typho looked anxiously at Padmé. "I spent a good deal of time after the war locating and looking after discarded cloned troopers," he explained quickly. "The Alliance fed and sheltered as many as we could find. We employed them in training and drilling our new recruits until the clones died naturally after a decade or so from their accelerated growth and development rate."

Padmé nodded encouragingly. Anakin refrained – barely – from strangling the man.

Typho went on, speaking faster than usual. "We had to keep them outfitted, so we developed contacts among the finest designers and manufacturers of armor in the Galaxy." He nodded toward Padmé. "Some time ago her Ladyship commissioned a specially designed armored suit that would address your particular... ah…" Typho paused, visibly sweating, "… disabilities."

"_What? _Anakin looked at the thing on the floor in horror and fury. It looked like a shiny white corpse. "I'm not going to put something like that on! Are you mad?"

Typho looked helplessly at Padmé.

"Thank you, General," she said kindly, releasing him at last. He left as quickly as courtesy allowed.

"No." Anakin spat when Typho had gone.

"Anakin, please, just… "

"How exactly do you imagine this fantasy of yours taking place?" Anakin demanded coldly. He could feel his fury rising up through his chest. He fought it down.

"It is not a fantasy, Anakin. To free the Galaxy, we must destroy Palpatine. We can't do that without you." She looked at him with sorrow and determination. "But you are physically weakened. That suit…" she pointed at the ugly, shiny white thing, "is designed to restore your muscle strength, to assist your breathing and to keep you comfortable and pain free at all times. With it, you should be able to move ... and fight… the way you did before." She glanced up at him anxiously for his reaction.

Anakin's fists clenched of their own accord. He looked away from her.

"You refuse to leave your family unprotected," Padmé persisted. "And I don't want you to. But with the children grown and ready to break their bonds, the only possibility of keeping them safe is to keep them close to us." Anakin remained mute. "Let's ask for their help, Anakin. Let us go to them finally and make them understand who we are, who they are, and what is at stake. They are no longer infants. You don't know Leia, but she is strong and wise…

"I know her through you. I see her as you do."

Padmé nodded. "And I know Luke through you. He is also strong, and a superb pilot. Just think of it…together we can help you and support you, and it will be easier to keep us safe. You've said that the Force is strong with Luke. I think it is with Leia, too. Perhaps you could train…"

"What exactly do you expect me to do?" Anakin rasped. His shoulders were so tight with tension they trembled. "Go down to Owen's farm and say, without explanation or apology, 'Luke, I am your father'? Are you _serious_?"

"Well, yes." Padmé was slumped on the bench, gripping her hands together in her lap. "I will have to do the same." When she looked up again, her eyes were dark with pain. "There is no good or honorable or right way to tell a child that you have known of his existence all his life but never made contact with him." She swallowed. "And then, if Luke is willing, the three of us must travel to Alderaan to face to Leia."

Anakin covered his face with his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he had wept. The tears seared his cheeks like the flames of long ago. He could hardly breathe. "You can't mean this," he grated out. "I couldn't do that to him – to either one of them."

Padmé rose and approached him slowly and carefully. "I think you don't give yourself – or your children – enough credit," she murmured, sliding her arms gently up his back and over his shoulders. "I know they will learn to love you as I do."

"I can't do it, Padmé. I can't face them. Not like this."

Padmé continued to caress him in silence, running hands run down his arms and back. Stroking him. Gentling him. Weakening him.

At last, with a sadness Anakin had not heard in her voice since their decision to give up the children, she said softly, "Then the Emperor has already won."

"Padmé, I will do anything you ask," he moaned. But please don't ask me for this."

"I have asked, Anakin. I am asking. You are our only hope."

Anakin shook with despair. Shrugging away from her touch, he gave the empty white armor as vicious a kick as he could manage with one damaged leg. It moved only a little. "I'd look like a clone trooper in this thing. I won't wear it." He waved his hand and hurled all the pieces across the room where they crumpled against the far wall in a random heap. The helmet landed upside down, revealing complex circuitry inside. Anakin fought down a feeling of dread.

Padmé didn't flinch. "I could have it modified," she offered. We could change the color. What about… black? Like the cloak you wear. It would be unique. Even the Mandalorians don't have something like that."

Anakin stared at it hopelessly. "I would be able to fight again?" he croaked after a time.

"It is designed for that. You should be able to fly as well, with the suit protecting you from the pressures."

He stared at the white thing for a long time without moving. It still looked like a corpse, and the container it came in, like a coffin.

"That is not a thing one puts on and takes off like a cloak," he whispered. "Once inside, I could no longer feel your touch."

Resting her face against his back, Padmé slid her hand around his chest to rest over his heart. _I am always with you._

_It isn't the same._

_It wouldn't be forever. Only for this purpose. I would not ask if there was another way._

Anakin opened and closed his metal hand, by far the strongest part of his body, and tried to imagine himself encased inside that mechanical suit. A suit of armor suited for what … a droid?

_Not a droid … s_omething whispered faintly in the back of his mind… _a knight…. _

Panicked, Anakin yanked open the door violently and fled, leaving Padmé behind. Waving away the guards outside the compound who automatically moved to join him, he stumbled painfully toward the path that led up to the ridge. His breathing was labored. Out of pride he tried not to limp, but it was difficult. He struggled on. He needed space. He needed to breathe. He needed to think, to weep, to grieve.

Perhaps to meditate.

Back in the main room of the house Padmé sank to her knees on the floor. Opening her mind to Anakin in hopes that he would reach out to her, she remained there for a long, long time, waiting for thought-words that did not come.

x

"Lady, come quickly!"

Padmé opened her eyes and groaned when she realized how stiff she was from having fallen asleep slumped on the bench. In the faint early morning light she could barely see Pell's face.

"What is it?" she rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up. "What has happened?"

"I'm to take you to the Lars homestead, Lady. We're to leave right now."

Padmé woke up immediately. "I'll be right there."

She washed and dressed quickly, all the while reaching out for Anakin in her mind. He was there – she felt his presence – but he remained silent.

For the first time in a long time, she felt afraid.

A team of five men awaited her in the courtyard, Pell among them. Padmé knew them all. The other four had been part of Anakin's squadron in the Battle of Nowhere, and had refused to leave his side… after. She climbed into the waiting transport silently, wrapped in thought. It seemed that her private time with Anakin was already over. Unless he wanted to be alone with Padmé, Anakin never made a move without his crew by his side.

If her suspicions were right, he was giving her what she had asked for.

The Lars homestead was not far away. When the two transports arrived, the early morning sunlight was just beginning to tint the low domes and the surrounding sand with pink and lavender. Further away, the green fields still looked dark and somber in the low light. Anakin was already there – she could make out his height and his heavy dark cloak and cowl from far away. He was over by the garage talking to a man, probably Owen Lars. Even from a distance, she had the distinct feeling that the conversation was not a pleasant one.

The transports pulled up in a cloud of dust and someone helped Padmé down to the ground. She looked around anxiously for Luke, and realized that she was shaking with anxiety. He was nowhere to be seen. She stayed where she was, pressing herself against the vehicle's side for stability.

"I'll stay here for a moment."

"Aye, Lady."

This was what she had wanted and dreamed of.

She hadn't known how difficult – how terrifying – it would be to face her child with the truth.

Anakin's and Owen's raised voices carried clearly in the still morning air.

"… Leave him alone! Just because you're some petty warlord who everybody's scared of, you can't just come in here and…"

"I have the right to see him, Owen."

"You abandoned him with us, _brother. _That was your choice."

"You have been well compensated, Owen. I have made you a rich man, or have you forgotten?"

"You think that matters? Do you think I wouldn't have taken him anyway, and done it gladly?"

"I'm grateful, Owen. I've told you that. But he's grown now. It is time for him to face his destiny."

"You stupid, crazy Jedi! He's not some soldier you can order around; he's a _kid_, and a good one, too. Let him have his own life!"

"I _am_ part of his life! Anakin yelled hoarsely, and then he stopped abruptly and turned toward the main dome. Everyone else turned to look as well.

Luke and his Aunt Beru stood at the top of the stairs, looking warily around at all the people who had congregated in front of the homestead.

Padmé's hands flew to her mouth. Her heart beat so fast that the blood pounded in her ears. She couldn't take her eyes off Luke.

_My son. _Nothing in her life had prepared her for this moment of reunion. Nothing.

For an endless moment no one said anything. Then Anakin moved toward Luke. Owen grabbed his arm, but he shook it off.

Anakin stopped a few paces away from Luke and Beru in the long shadow of the dome. "Do you know who I am, Luke?" he asked.

The boy looked nervously at his Uncle, who was still standing over by the garage. Owen shook his head and looked away.

"Everyone around here does," Luke said clearly and steadily, "Although most of us have never really seen you. They say you run everything in the Territories."

Anakin nodded gravely. Padmé held her breath. Then Anakin called out quite clearly, so that everyone could hear, "You let the sand bury Shmi's grave, Owen."

Luke's Uncle made an impatient movement, the gesture of a man who is warding off the inevitable. "Why shouldn't I have?" he growled. "It would only have raised questions."

Anakin nodded again. "Would you come with me, Luke? I'd like to show you something."

Luke looked anxiously at his Aunt. She nodded and patted him on the shoulder. "Go on. It's all right."

Anakin strode – quite steadily, Padmé noticed – away from the dome toward an otherwise utterly featureless stretch of sand nearby. Luke followed reluctantly. About halfway there, he stopped.

Everyone else moved closer, raptly watching the unfolding scene. Padmé's knuckles were white with tension.

Anakin slowly raised one arm. As his hand rose up, so did a thick column of sand and dust from the unremarkable landscape beyond. There was no wind; there wasn't a breath of air to explain it. The column kept its narrow shape as if sculpted. Not a grain of sand escaped from it. The movement – so precise, so deliberate – was like nothing known in nature. It was the will of one man, written in sand and sky. As the column rose higher and higher, a bowl-shaped depression emptied out beneath it until at last a small, grey slab of stone became visible. Only then was the column of sand _allowed _– that was the strong impression of all the astounded observers – to arc over and downward, gradually returning to the ground in another location. Another movement of Anakin's hand flattened the edges of the bowl; the sand simple skittered away from it so that the stone marker became accessible from all sides.

Anakin turned to Luke. The boy's mouth had fallen open. He gestured for the boy to come closer. Luke moved toward him a good deal faster than before.

Awkwardly, painfully, Anakin knelt down in front of the slab. Luke crept closer. No one dared to breathe.

"This is the grave of Shmi Skywalker, Luke. She was your grandmother. She died before you were born."

The suns had risen higher in the sky. The stronger rays had lightened the pinks and purples to yellows and browns. It was already warmer. Where the light slanted through Luke's hair, it shone gold.

"Who are you?" Luke asked.

Anakin looked up at him. From her vantage point Padmé couldn't see his face under the black hood. She wondered whether Luke could.

"I am Shmi's only son," Anakin said simply.

"Then … you're my father?"

"I am." Anakin struggled to get to his feet, but was having difficulty. Luke jumped forward to help and pulled him up easily by the hand. Their hands still clasped, father and son stared at one another.

The men standing behind Padmé rumbled among themselves. Further away, she heard Beru's voice saying, "It's all right, Owen. It's all right," over and over again. Suddenly Padmé couldn't help herself. She sprinted toward Anakin and Luke.

"Who is that?" Luke asked his father.

"That," Anakin grated, "is the best news you will ever receive. She is the Lady Padmé – your mother – and she more than makes up for me."

Without hesitation Luke held out his other hand to her.

Padmé took her son's strong hand, marveling at his straightforward, unabashed acceptance of the truth.

At long last, Padmé felt at peace.

_There are no endings. There are only beginnings._

**The End**


End file.
